


When a Choice Is Placed Before You

by CallistoNicol



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Thor (Movies)
Genre: F/M, Modern AU, THESE TWO LOSERS, making life difficult for each other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-12
Updated: 2018-11-05
Packaged: 2019-07-11 08:10:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 17
Words: 90,941
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15968261
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CallistoNicol/pseuds/CallistoNicol
Summary: Life is full of choices.Sometimes, when you’re Sif, you choose to move back home to recuperate from a crash with a slew of broken bones.Sometimes, when you’re Loki, you choose to tell the girl next door you’re married to your sister-in-law, because that’s not going to end poorly.And sometimes, when faced with falling in love, you choose to hide from the other person because Loki is a turd bucket and Sif would rather die alone.





	1. And Even Now When I'm Alone

Sif stabbed the dirt viciously with her trowel. Stupid root, she thought, determined not to be defeated by a weed. It felt a little too much like her life lately; something grossly unwanted took up residence where it did not belong and refused to be removed, no matter how much digging she did or how much weed killer she used.

 

Okay, that was a terrible analogy, but she didn’t care. This stupid weed was going to die if she had to dig halfway to China to find the bottom of its root.

 

At the ripe old age of 28, Sif had moved home six weeks prior after a terrible car accident left her nearly dead. She’d suffered a mild concussion, two broken and four bruised ribs, multiple contusions due to the seat belt, burns on her arms, wrists, chest, and face from the airbag, a broken arm, broken leg, and broken metatarsals, a fancy term for foot. At least this whole experience was teaching her new vocabulary. The other driver, who had, of course, been drunk, didn’t have so much as a scratch on him. Sif wanted to hate him, but that took up too much energy, and anyway, the loser had to pay her medical bills, so he’d be suffering for a long time.

 

Ironically, when she was three her own parents had died in a car accident caused by a drunk driver, so she’d been raised by her Aunt Winifred--Win for short. Aunt Win had died of a heart attack about four months before Sif’s accident, leaving everything to her only niece. Aunt Win lived a modest life, so Sif expected a modest inheritance--mostly to come from selling the house--but was surprised to find her aunt had been a multi-millionaire. Apparently she’d been a closet romance novelist; her most famous book, _Quivering Heaps_ , still sold like hotcakes.

 

And thank goodness for all that. Before the accident, Sif had owned a martial arts dojo in Atlanta, but she’d had to close it in order to come home and heal. While she didn’t have to pay for anything medical, she still had utilities and property taxes to pay and food to buy, and Aunt Win’s millions were coming in handy in that department.

 

The garden had long been neglected, and Sif was content to let it die, but her doctor told her she needed to get off the couch once in a while. Her injuries were healing nicely, but she had to start reintegrating physical activity into her life. Weeding was the most she was willing to commit to at the moment, using her foot cast as a convenient excuse to not do more.

 

Sweat trickled down her temple, so she reached up to wipe it away, touching one of her fresh scars in the process. How could she forget the many cuts and scrapes peppering her whole body? She hadn’t looked in a mirror in a while; she probably looked a fright. Maybe she ought to try another one of those sponge baths, her current preferred choice of bathing as her casts made showers and regular baths somewhat difficult.

 

Across the street, the new couple were sitting on their porch, sipping what was probably sweet tea. The wife waved enthusiastically, and Sif twitched her head in acknowledgement before returning attention to the garden.

 

Another two minutes of vicious digging finally found the bottom of the root. Sif yanked it out victoriously and shook it. “HAH!” she said. “Public Enemy Number One has bit the dust!”

 

Tossing the weed into a trash bag, Sif surveyed her work. She had successfully pulled three weeds and was feeling pretty good about herself, so long as she didn’t look at the garden, which was populated with another 37,000 weeds.

 

“A job well done,” she said, brushing the dirt off her gardening gloves.

 

In her previous life, the one where she was a skilled martial artist and former college track star determined to make her business thrive, she would never have left a job unfinished. In this life, the one where a spider was crawling on her cast and her ribs were starting to hurt, she figured she’d done a whole day’s work.

 

Sif flicked the spider off her cast and grabbed her crutches, slowly hauling herself off the ground. Despite the fact that it hurt to do anything, she always seemed to forget just _how_ much it hurt. “Mother of a milk-drinking goat,” she gasped as her ribs started to throb. Looking down at her middle, Sif said sternly, “I thought you were supposed to be healed after six weeks. And don’t give me any of that crap about trying to heal from multiple injuries! You’re stronger than that.” No response. It was probably a good sign; the last thing she wanted was to report to her doctor that she was hallucinating. Still, just once she wished her body would apologize and give her a concrete timeline for healing.

 

A low rumble, the distinctive sound of a large truck, could be heard in the near distance. Turning to face the noise, Sif watched with interest as a moving truck rounded the corner and inched its way towards the house next door. Yesterday, movers had emptied a modest-sized truck into the Odinson house, but no newcomers accompanied the things. A second truck from a different moving company made for some interesting speculation.

 

Sif had been friends with both Odinson twins growing up, but there had been some drama towards the end of high school and she’d lost touch with them when they all scattered for college. Sif went to Georgia State on a track scholarship. Thor, the larger and blonder brother, went to Ohio State on a football scholarship, and Loki, the dark-haired and more irritating brother, gloatingly went to Stanford.

 

Their father, Odin, had been mayor of their town her whole life, until he won a bid for the Senate two years ago. Aunt Win had reported that Odin and his wife, Frigga, moved to D.C. for most of the year, leaving their house mostly empty. He still had four more years in his term, which meant this wasn’t the parents moving home. Interest piqued, Sif hobbled to the fence separating her yard and the Odinson yard. Propping her good arm and her cast-free-as-of-yesterday arm on the top of the fence, Sif rested her chin and watched.

 

Yesterday had been some furniture and a lot of heavy boxes Sif assumed held books. That indicated Loki, as Sif wasn’t entirely sure Thor ever learned how to read. Today was a lot of odd-sized boxes and gym bags clearly holding sports equipment, which indicated Thor, as Loki was half-vampire and probably hadn’t seen the sun, let alone a ball field, in probably half his life.

 

Did that mean both boys were moving home? Sif wasn’t sure how she felt about that. They’d both broken her heart at one time or another, and she kind of wished they’d both fallen into holes they couldn’t get out of.

 

Who would be worse? she mused. She’d actually dated Thor, but Loki had been the one she wanted but couldn’t quite get. There might be latent feelings there...except not. She’d definitely gotten over Loki long ago. Yup. Nothing to worry about there. And Thor hadn’t exactly cheated on her, but he’d cited the reason for their breakup as a strained relationship with Loki. Sif thought a “strained relationship” looked an awful lot like the leggy blond Amora who moved in across the street, but what did she know?

 

Just as the movers were locking up the truck, a black sports car zoomed up and parked in the driveway. Sif tried standing on her tiptoes, momentarily forgetting that her foot was broken. Cursing repeatedly as her foot shot out sharp stabbing pains, she almost missed Loki exiting. The moment played out in slow motion:

 

Loki exited the car

The sun caught his hair and it _gleamed_

Said hair was tossed about like a shampoo commercial

 _Damn_ his long luscious locks (hers had been shaved for stitches, and she was furiously trying to grow it back out)

His ridiculous sunglasses made him look like a movie star

There wasn’t an ounce of wind, but she swore his hair ruffled in it

 

His skin was still as pasty pale as always, looking oddly out of place in the Georgia sun. Sif had no idea what he brand he was wearing, but his clothes looked expensive. He wore a blue fitted button-down, the sleeves rolled up to showcase perfectly toned forearms, paired with dark skinny jeans and shoes Sif probably couldn’t afford if she sold her left kidney. Before she had inherited millions of dollars, that is.

 

Her heart thumped the tiniest bit. He looked _good_.

 

Then the passenger door opened and out stepped a young woman with magnificent brown hair, gently flowing in the non-existent wind. Sif jabbed her chin in her arm to prevent it from self-consciously rubbing the almost-pixie look she was sporting now. It wasn’t fair to compare her injury-caused hairstyle to this goddess’s divine locks. Sif had amazing hair. Usually. She was just currently in between hair.

 

The woman was smiling as she turned to say something to Loki, too quiet for Sif to hear. She caught sight of Sif and pointed. Oh no; abort. Abort! She was not supposed to be standing here staring at her childhood friend and former--stress on the _former_ \--crush as he moved home. _Especially_ not as he turned and saw her. Crap. They’d made eye contact. Or rather eye-sunglasses contact, and now Loki was taking a step in her direction. Sif took quick stock of her situation, and realized she didn’t have enough time to grab her crutches and hobble into the house before Loki reached her position.

 

Had his legs always been so long? What was with his ground-eating pace? Didn’t he know she was trying to avoid him?

 

It was suddenly clear to Sif that if an Odinson had to move home, she would much rather it were Thor. _Why_ hadn’t she come to this conclusion with time to remove herself from the situation, or better yet, from the safety of her own home? Now she’d have to say _hi_ and make _small talk._ Kill me now, she thought.

 

“Sif!” Loki called as he was halfway to the fence. His voice was as musical as ever and momentarily transported Sif back to when she was sixteen and studying for the SAT with Loki. On her own she never would have studied, but any excuse to listen to that boy say words was a good use of time in her book.

 

Realizing she didn’t want him to know about her accident, Sif dropped her broken arm to her side before remembering it wasn’t broken anymore. Returning it to rest atop the fence, she did take the time to kick the crutches so they fell to the ground with a clatter. As Loki approached, Sif pasted on a smile and said, “Hi!” She really hoped he couldn’t hear how fake she sounded.

 

Loki gave a half wave, and then they stood there standing stupidly and awkwardly, as if they’d never taken baths together as children and watched each other go through puberty.

 

Actually, never mind. Those were perfectly good reasons to stand awkwardly.

 

“It’s so good to see you!” she lied, ignoring the beating of her heart that said it wasn’t much of a lie. “What are you doing here?”

 

“I thought the moving trucks made that obvious,” he drawled, and Sif flushed. Right. Moving day.

 

“Just confirming,” she said, trying to feel less stupid around this Ivy League grad. “I saw sports equipment, so it’s entirely possibly you’re just moving Thor in.”

 

“Yes, because in the ten years since we’ve seen each other, it’s highly improbable that I picked up playing.”

 

Sif perked up at his comment. “Did you?” she asked, trying to contain her excitement. If he was into sports, they might finally have something in common!

 

“Definitely not,” he drawled, and her world crashed back down into a sad reality. “Everything the movers brought today belongs to Jane.”

 

Jane. In the excitement of the moment, Sif had momentarily forgotten about the woman in the car. Peering around her old friend, Sif spied the woman...Jane…talking to the movers. She was well dressed in gray slacks and a muted purple top. While Sif was watching, Jane gathered her hair up and tucked it into a loose bun using nothing but a pen. Once again, Sif felt a bout of hair envy. Even when she had hair, she couldn’t get it to stay with just a writing utensil. “Who’s Jane?” she asked, busy pretending words like _moving_ and _Jane_ didn’t mean what she thought it meant.

 

“My...wife.”

 

She should really trust her instincts. Of course Loki would have a wife. Ivy League school. Expensive clothes. Pretty wife who could probably give his brain a run for its money.

 

Sif, meanwhile, was unemployed, hairless, single pretty much since forever, and remembering that her ribs hurt. “Cool,” she said, and worked hard not to wince.

 

“Loki!” Jane shouted, and Loki turned to face the pretty young thing who was beckoning him over.

 

“I’m being summoned,” Loki said, as if Sif couldn’t see it for herself. “I’ll see you around.”

 

The second his back was turned, Sif dropped to the ground (slowly, painfully). No way in hell was she letting Loki watch her hobble back into her house like an eighty-year-old woman. She’d sit in discomfort on this ground until dark if she had to.

 

Married. Good thing she wasn’t interested in him anymore. That would’ve made this reunion way more awkward.

 

Sif tried twisting to peer through the cracks in the fence, foolishly forgetting once again that her ribs were not her allies at the moment. With a groan of pain, she abandoned all thoughts of spying and decided that while Loki wasn’t allowed to see her hobble like a grandma, crawling on her hands and one good leg would keep her out of sight and was therefore good enough.

 

Now she just needed to grab her crutches, which she’d kicked needlessly far away, crawl into the house, and remember if she had any friends she could call to complain to about her new neighbors.

 

She should have stayed inside instead of gardening.

 

*

 

Jane was thanking the movers effusively as Loki walked up, hardly pausing for a breath and barely acknowledging Loki’s presence. Why she’d called him over he couldn’t fathom, but he was grateful for the escape from his conversation with Sif.

 

He couldn’t believe he had told her Jane was his wife. Any chance she was just visiting Aunt Win, therefore leaving in a few days, and none of this would ever get brought up again?

 

Except he recalled Mother telling him Aunt Win died not too long ago. Maybe Sif was just putting her affairs in order before selling the house? He should have asked rather than spout lies about his sister-in-law.

 

The movers left much happier than they would have been if Loki was the one interacting with them. Loki thought it grossly unfair that Jane, who was the ultimate nerd, was also so good with people. He hoped she’d been ugly as a teenager; there had to be justice somewhere.

 

“You called?”

 

Jane smiled at him. “The stiff way you were holding your shoulders told me the conversation wasn’t going well, so I gave you an excuse to get out of it.”

 

And that was one of the many reasons why Loki liked his sister-in-law better than his brother, who would have gone out of his way to make the reunion more awkward than it already was.

 

“Are you going to tell me why you were uncomfortable?” Jane asked, leading the way into the house.

 

Loki tripped over his own feet, catching himself on the side of the house. He could never admit to Jane that he’d stupidly claimed her as his wife. If Jane didn’t kill him, Thor surely would. And what excuse did he have for his actions, anyway? That he didn’t want Sif to know he’d quit his New York corporate lawyer gig, effectively making him an unemployed loser? That he also didn’t want Sif to know that Loki moved in with his brother’s pregnant wife, to take care of her while said brother was deployed, all because Loki had nothing better to do with his life? That he was living off his meager savings in his _parents’_ house, while his pregnant sister-in-law was working as a physics teacher at his old high school, proving that she could accomplish more while being a baby-making factory than he could with an Ivy League undergrad and Harvard law degree?

 

Closing the front door behind him, Loki kicked off his shoes and said, “Old flame.”

 

Jane turned to face him, eyebrows high with excitement. “Old flame as in you used to date, or old flame as in you used to be in love with her?”

 

“Thor used to date her,” he said instead, but regretted it when Jane’s excited eyebrows turned into disbelieving, unhappy eyebrows.

 

“Thor?” she said, a touch too flatly, then narrowed her eyes in realization. “Ah. Thor dated her, but you wanted to, and you never forgave him for getting what you wanted.”

 

Loki hated how good Jane was at reading him. He needed to up his lying game, starting by not admitting to her that he still had a thing for Sif, even with that ridiculous haircut she was sporting.

 

Which would actually be easy to do. If he admitted to any level of interest in Sif, Jane would take it into her head to try and set them up, which would freak Sif out, since she thought Jane was married to Loki.

 

He really needed to keep those two from meeting.

 

“Let’s order take out and unpack tomorrow,” he said, hoping food would distract the pregnant woman. Pulling out his cell phone, he looked up the number for Heimdall’s. It was generic southern food, but Loki swore the cooks there were magic. It didn’t matter what you ordered, because everything was the best thing you’d ever eaten.

 

“Great idea,” Jane said. “Order me two of whatever you’re getting. I’ve got to pee.”

 

TMI. Loki did not need an announcement about Jane’s bodily functions, yet he had eight more months of this to look forward to. Why did Thor have to go into the army? He should have gone pro in football like everyone expected, and then Loki wouldn’t be babysitting the little wife.

 

Or Loki should have kept his corporate job, soul-sucking office be damned, and then he wouldn’t be in this position.

 

Loki hated it when he could blame his problems on himself.

 

While he waited on the food to arrive, Loki stared out the kitchen window at Aunt Win’s house. The yard needed mowing, and the garden was about two weeds away from returning to wildland. Sif needed to up her yard work game; it lowered the value of everyone else’s property. Especially if she was going to sell the place, it needed to look magazine perfect.

 

Sif thought he was married. It was an inelegant method of preventing any returning sparks of interest, because she was bound to catch him in the lie sooner or later, and he anticipated her anger to be legendary. He loved seeing her angry when the fury was aimed at someone else, but when it was aimed his way, he found her extremely terrifying. It was hard to maintain interest in someone when you were scared of them. Not that he was interested in her anymore; it had been ten long years since high school, and while he might be pathetic enough to move home unemployed, he wasn’t pathetic enough to hold a torch for a decade.

 

But even without romantic interest, he was curious about her life. They’d been friends for fifteen years. What was she up to? Was she married? What was with that haircut? Loki happened to be a fan of short hair on women (mostly because he wore his long, and damn if he didn’t want to be the pretty one in the relationship), but there was a difference between short hair and hair that looked like it had been attacked with a weed whacker. Maybe Sif was going through a Sinead O’Connor phase?

 

Ten years ago, he would have just asked. Thirty minutes ago, he would have set Jane on the problem. Now, he was bound and determined to keep the two women apart, and the less he saw of Sif, the fewer lies he’d have to keep straight.

 

Jane exited her bedroom at that moment, phone tucked up against her ear. “I don’t know; let me ask him,” she was saying, walking down the hall towards the kitchen. “Loki, your mom wants to know if everything is in order.”

 

“What she really wants to know is if the cleaning service they’ve hired is doing their job.”

 

He could hear his mother’s muffled voice, but not well enough to make out what she said. Jane giggled, covering her mouth with her hand. “And?” she asked, smiling brightly.

 

Loki sighed internally. He kind of hated how much his mother doted on Jane; being Frigga’s favorite had always been his job. “They forgot to clean up the last goat sacrifice she and Father did; there’s blood everywhere. Very untidy.”

 

This time he heard his mother clearly. “Not. Amused.”

 

“Yes you are,” he said, a smirk just touching his lips.

 

Jane rolled her eyes. “The house looks fine to me. Yes. Yes. It’s perfect, really. Yes, there’s plenty of room for both of us; your house is huge, Frigga. Loki and I could go days without seeing each other. Oh, and Loki already said hi to the neighbor girl, Thor’s old girlfriend?”

 

Loki’s eyes widened with horror; Mother _loved_ Sif, and he absolutely did not want her getting involved in any way. As he leapt up to steal the phone from Jane, the doorbell rang. Saved by the bell, he thought. “Food’s here,” he announced loudly. Predictably, food caught the pregnant woman’s attention.

 

“Sorry Frigga, we’ll have to chat later. Give Odin my love!”

 

It was almost disgusting how well Jane fit into their family. She hadn’t been Father’s first choice for Thor (or second, third, or even thirty-third), but one weekend with the woman and she’d won Odin over so entirely Loki briefly worried he’d be written out of the family will in favor of Jane. Still worried about it sometimes, honestly; he’d just quit his job, while Jane was busy making the family heir. At the moment, there was no doubt who Odin found more favorable.

 

Spying the look on his face, Jane teasingly said, “You know, if you made a baby, Odin would love you, too.”

 

Many a truth was spoken in jest, but Jane was so pleasant, it was hard to feel hurt.

 

“Whatever,” he said, opening the door to pay the delivery guy, and pulled up short.

 

Standing there, holding two Heimdall’s takeout bags, was Malekith, Loki’s former best friend. He hadn’t changed much since high school: his hair was still dyed black, contrasting sharply with his pale skin, so similar to Loki’s own. He wasn’t wearing the goth makeup from high school, but his clothes were all black and his belt was silver-studded, and he still wore the dour face that irritated so many teachers.

 

“Great, you’re back, too,” Malekith said, eyebrows and mouth turned slightly down.

 

“Too?” Loki asked as Jane took the bags and he handed Malekith his card.

 

Malekith jerked his head towards Aunt Win’s house as he inserted Loki’s card into his mobile chip reader. “ _She’s_ back,” he spat. “Orders food from us about four times a week. She’s a hermit now.”

 

Interesting.

 

Jane handed Malekith a cash tip, which he shoved into his pocket, and left without another word. Pleasant fellow. Had he always been like this?

 

Once they were situated at the kitchen table, and after Jane had eaten an entire carton of mac and cheese by herself, she asked about the awkwardness at the door.

 

Loki pondered over how best to answer. _Girl next door dated my best friend in response to me dating the head cheerleader in response to her dating someone in response to me looking at her like she was special in response to her fulfilling a childhood threat that wasn’t so bad after all_ made them sound like pathetic children who couldn’t control their feelings and kind of had it out for each other. Sometimes the truth was best left hidden.

 

“He used to date Sif,” Loki said, grabbing a fried chicken leg. “Bad breakup.”

 

“How does that involve you?”

 

Loki shrugged. “Friends always get involved in breakups.”

 

Jane gave him a considered look. “So how did you feel when Thor and Sif broke up?”

 

Elated. Like he had a chance, and all he had to do was navigate her heartbreak without angering his brother. It was going really well, too, until Sigyn moved in and shared all his classes. He had a hard time resisting girls who were also into physics, chemistry, and calculus. Really, given his preferences in women, he should have been the one to date and marry Jane. But there was something about her that made her wonderful as a sister-in-law, but horrifying as a potential mate. Maybe it was the similarity in interests, though Loki didn’t want to analyze what that said about his and Thor’s relationship.

 

Loki gave another shrug. “She and I weren’t really speaking at the time, so it had minimal effect,” he partially lied. “But do tell, Jane, dear; why the sudden interest in Thor’s ex-girlfriend?”

 

As he hoped, his words flustered Jane enough that she terminated that line of thought and turned the conversation toward baby names (Loki’s vote was on Loki the Magnificent, or, failing that, Oberon; Jane was leaning toward Erik, after her favorite college professor. All this assuming it was a boy, of course. Girl names had yet to be bandied about, though Loki thought his name would also make an excellent girl name).

 

Lying in bed that night, Loki thought back to Malekith’s words. _She’s a hermit now_. What did that mean? Was it because of that awful hair he just could not get over? Or was the hair because of her newfound hermit status?

 

Didn’t matter, of course. With Sif thinking Jane was his wife, Loki’s new goal in life was to avoid Sif at all costs. And if she was a hermit now, that made his life that much easier.

 

He fell asleep dreaming about her pretty eyes.

 


	2. Keep it up, Homegirl, Don't You Quit

It had been almost three weeks since Loki and Jane Odinson moved in next door, and so far Sif had done a bang-up job of avoiding them. It helped that she only got off her couch to eat and attend doctor’s appointments. She’d ventured back into the garden twice, both times when she’d seen Loki drive away in his car and knew it was safe. She almost went a third, but Jane came outside just as Sif was opening the front door, so she retreated inside.

 

Today was one of the rare excursions outside of the house: she was going to the doctor! And maybe if she thought about it excitedly enough, it would transfer to her feelings. Because the doctor sucked. Sif still had a walking cast on her right foot, so she couldn’t drive, which meant calling an Uber. And while Uber was extremely efficient at what they did and Sif greatly appreciated having a back up, she really resented the loss of freedom. The day she was cleared to drive again, she was going to head west until her car ran out of gas, just because she could.

 

Dr. Hogun’s office was only a couple of miles from her house. Before the accident, she easily could have walked. It would be a long walk, sure, but she could do it. Now, the thought of walking to the car made her rethink her life choices. She should have been a theoretical physicist working on beaming technology. Injured people everywhere would worship her name once she was successful. And then she could rub it in the face of the Odinson family that she was more famous than the whole lot of them.

 

Minor hiccup: she didn’t want to be famous and she really didn’t want anything to do with theoretical physics. Passing dummy physics in high school had been hard enough, and that only happened because she had a great study buddy.

 

With a huff, Sif grabbed her crossbody purse and made her way to the curb to wait for her Uber. Sitting in the sun counted as physical activity, right? It made her sweat, and surely that counted.

 

To Sif’s horror, just as she sat down, Jane pulled up to the Odinson house in her little Toyota Camry. There was no way she could gracefully escape the situation. Before she even thought of standing up, Jane was exiting the car, and worse, coming right toward Sif. There was no way out of this one.

 

“Hello!” Jane called cheerfully. “I’m Jane. I’ve been wanting to meet you ever since Loki first mentioned you.”

 

Sif was dying to know what he had said. Did he mention her before they moved back to Odin’s house, or was Jane’s first introduction to Sif’s existence on that fateful move-in day? “I’m Sif,” she said, rather than asking.

 

“I know,” Jane said. “I’ve heard a lot about you.” That didn’t sound good. Loki knew too much. Sif bared her teeth in what she hoped wasn’t too awkward of a smile and gave a half hearted chuckle. Jane just smiled and gestured at Sif’s foot. “I noticed your cast; what happened?”

 

“I broke it,” Sif said, then added, “and I don’t really want to talk about it.”

 

“I’m sorry,” Jane said, holding up her hand in a placating manner. “I didn’t mean to intrude on something private.”

 

“Oh, it’s not that,” Sif said. “I just don’t want Loki knowing what happened.” He wasn’t great at handling other people’s issues. In a sad attempt to comfort her, he’d bring over an Apology Pie, end up mocking her, feel bad about it, then try to cover it up with awkward platitudes. Nope, better just to avoid the whole situation.

 

“I get the feeling you two have a lot of history,” Jane said knowingly, and Sif’s internal alarms went off. Where was she going with this? “This is the real reason I came over to talk. The other day, Loki mentioned something about dating someone because you dated someone because he dated someone because you dated someone…?”

 

It took Sif a moment to understand Jane’s comment, and when she finally did, her alarm only grew. Loki’s _wife_ wanted to talk about Loki’s dating history, and with _Sif,_  of all people?

 

“What brought this up?” Sif asked carefully, unsure if she was allowed to tell Jane the truth.

 

Jane brushed a few flyaway hairs off her face. Sif noticed the lack of sweat, even in the August humidity, and thought sometimes life just wasn’t fair. “The delivery boy from Heimdall’s recognized Loki.”

 

Ah. Malekith, the twerp. He hadn’t changed much since high school, including his inability to construct a pleasant sentence. Dating him was one of Sif’s greatest regrets in life. She snuck a peek at Jane’s face; she didn’t look vindictive. In fact, genuine curiosity colored her face. Maybe she really did want a story from Loki’s past? It was possible. Sif would want to know everything about her husband, and Loki was particularly gifted at avoiding talking about things he didn’t want to discuss, from dancing around the topic to flat out lying about it.

 

And this story, while not exactly flattering to Sif, didn’t paint her in a terrible light with regards to Loki.

 

And maybe if Sif bonded with Loki’s wife, it would help her get over other things she was busy not dealing with.

 

“It’s a stupid story,” Sif said. “Something happened--” that something being she kissed Loki, which wasn’t as romantic as it sounded. The first several years of their friendship, Loki repeatedly told her girls were icky and yucky and had cooties and she would never be good at anything. When she was seven, she finally got fed up with it and started shouting I LOVE YOU at him any time they were near each other. He hated it so much, she made it her life’s goal to kiss him. After all, she was willing to make such a sacrifice to the Great God of Cooties if it meant seeing Loki miserable.

 

He was remarkably elusive, so it became a long term game between them. Finally, when they were fifteen, Sif caught him and kissed him. It was a toss-up who was more surprised. Sif hadn’t thought twice about boys before that, and Loki had never thought twice about her. Suddenly he started giving her significant looks, and Sif, not knowing what to do with the funny turning in her tummy, went and found herself a boyfriend as a distraction.

 

“So in response I got myself a boyfriend.” It was immediately apparent she and Volstagg didn’t suit each other, but she liked him so much she introduced him to Thor and made him a friend. They’d stayed close until sometime in college, when they lost touch, although they were still Facebook friends. She should look him up and see what trouble he’d gotten himself into. “So Loki, miracle of miracles, got Lorelei, the head cheerleader, to date him.” Mm. Maybe she shouldn’t have sounded so disbelieving; women could be awfully protective of their husbands. But it was a shock; Loki had been a highly intelligent, scrawny little nerd, and for Lorelei to date him without even trying for Thor, the _jock_ , had been a surprise to everyone, and they definitely made sure he knew. “It was stupid, but I took the Lorelei thing as a personal insult, and since Volstagg--he was my boyfriend--and I didn’t date long, I started dating Loki’s best friend, Malekith, the delivery boy you mentioned.”

 

Jane interrupted with a look of surprise. “ _That_ kid was Loki’s best friend? Did he even graduate from high school?”

 

“It was...unclear.” On an academic level, Loki was so far above Malekith it was laughable, but when you felt like something of an outsider, it was inevitable you’d befriend the other outsiders. “They met in, like, 6th grade or something, and being a pair of pale-skinned loners, were naturally drawn towards each other.”

 

“And you dated him,” Jane said disbelievingly.

 

Sif winced. “Not my finest hour. Everything blew up rather spectacularly, with Loki and Lorelei breaking up and me breaking up with Malekith, and Loki breaking up with me. Friendshippily, that is. We weren’t dating.” Had to make that clear to Mrs. Odinson. “And then he didn’t talk to me for months. As in he wouldn’t even look at me. Have you ever tried being lab partners with someone who won’t acknowledge your existence? No bueno.”

 

Jane laughed. “Yes, Loki can be a stubborn little thing. I admire your fortitude in dealing with him.”

 

With Jane’s continued agreeableness, Sif was starting to relax. Maybe they could be friends after all. Sif had a always had a lack of female friends, a side effect of hanging around with all the football players and being sporty herself. It would be nice to be friends with her neighbor.

 

And to that end, Sif needed to get off the subject of Loki immediately. “I dated Thor not too long after that,” she said brightly. “We were together until the end of the year, when he dumped me for the leggy blonde across the street.”

 

As Jane’s face closed off, Sif had the clear impression that she’d said something wrong. Baffled, she held her tongue rather that admit Thor dating Amora is what renewed her friendship with Loki.

 

“He did _what?_ ” Jane said, a hint of danger coloring her voice.

 

Uncertain where to tread next, Sif was eternally grateful her Uber arrived. “My ride’s here!” she announced, standing up. “It was nice to meet you, Jane. See you around!” and she ducked inside her car before Jane had the chance to respond.

 

She gave her driver directions to the doctor (five minutes away) and wondered what the heck was wrong with Loki (obviously it was his fault) that his wife talking about his dating life was perfectly fine, but her talking about Thor’s dating life took a turn towards the murderous.

  


*

 

“--and why is his wife asking me about his dating history anyway? Isn’t that, like, the ultimate taboo topic when you’re married?”

 

Sif took a breath, finishing her tirade. Dr. Hogun looked at her watch. “You realize you spent the last twenty-three minutes talking about this man?” he said. “I posted your x-rays fifteen minutes ago, but you haven’t let me get a word in edgewise.”

 

There was no way that was true. Sif didn’t have enough to say about Loki to fill 23 minutes. After all, the entirety of their story was in the past.

 

“And this is the third visit in a row where you’ve talked about nothing but Loki Odinson,” Dr. Hogun continued. Sif drew back, alarmed; she had _not_ spoken of him for three visits in a row! He was married, for crying out loud!

 

“I beg your pardon,” she said a titch huffily, “but you’re wrong. I don’t have enough to say about... _him_...for your claims to be true.”

 

“You went out with some boy named Volstagg to Homecoming just to avoid romantic entanglements with him. You dated his best friend, an event which ended poorly, although that was the one story you, thankfully, did not expound upon. You tried facebook stalking him early in college, but gave up when you couldn’t find an account, and haven’t heard from him since until you creeper-stalked him over your adjoining yard fence last month when he and his new wife, both of whom have ‘fabulous hair’--direct quote from you--moved in, and you’re uncomfortable talking to his wife about your dating history, but chose to do so anyway just so you could then complain to me about it.”

 

Sif sat in growing discomfort. The evidence was piling up against her, and she felt more embarrassed than the time Aunt Win caught her trying to stuff her bra just to impress...nope. Not to impress anybody. Nope, nope, nope.

 

“Please don’t tell me you’re still thinking of him,” Dr. Hogun said.

 

“Never!” Sif said, trying to sound aghast. Her doctor gave her a flat look, but then he was always giving her flat looks. She swallowed. “Um. My x-rays?” she said, trying to redirect him.

 

“They look good; you’re healing, not dying,” Dr Hogun said, a touch too quickly for Sif’s taste. “Now. About this neighbor of yours--”

 

“Nope! I am done talking about him!” she said, trying to leap off the exam table, no easy feat when one’s metatarsals were still healing. The tissue paper covering the exam table ripped in the attempt.  “You said my x-rays are good, so I can go home.”

 

“Not so fast, lady Sif.” He pointed back to the exam table, and Sif felt like she was being disciplined by a father, or maybe a stern principal. Hunching her shoulders, she scooted back on the exam table, tissue paper crinkling. Dr. Hogun’s calm personality combined with the determined glint in his eye made her feel like she wasn’t allowed to say no. “Have you considered therapy?”

 

_Therapy_? Wasn’t that for people who had latent daddy issues or were traumatized by household items like ketchup?

 

“ _Physical_ therapy is the only kind of therapy I need, thank you, sir,” Sif said firmly.

 

“Discussing this obsession of yours with a trained specialist will be of great benefit,” Dr. Hogun went on as if she hadn’t spoken. Perhaps she hadn’t been firm enough.

 

“No, thank you,” she said again, but Dr. Hogun didn’t seem to hear.

 

Out of his back pocket he pulled a business card and pressed it into her hand. Sif stared down at the little card:

 

Dr. Phil Coulson

Therapist

 

That was it. It was the plainest business card she’d ever seen; there wasn’t a border or a picture, a color, or an interesting font. There wasn’t even an address or number on it. Holding the card up, Sif pointed out the lack of information.

 

“Flip it over,” Dr. Hogun said.

 

616 Shield Ave

Vanaheim, Georgia

555-GET-HELP

 

Well, now she felt foolish.

 

“There’s no point in giving this to me; I won’t make an appointment.”

 

“I know,” Dr. Hogun said, “which is why I made one for you. It starts in half an hour.” Sif’s eyes widened in outrage, so he held up his hand placatingly. “Hear me out,” he said. She pursed her lips at him and crossed her arms petulantly, but didn’t prevent him from speaking, so he continued. “You suffered a major life change recently with this car crash, and even though you’re healing nicely, your ribs are still tender and your foot is taking its time.

 

“You’ve never talked to me about the drunk driver who hit you, which, combined with the fact that your parents were killed by a drunk driver, gives me reason to worry that you’re repressing or suppressing. Now you’ve weirdly fixated on a married man living next door, whom you’ve spoken to once.”

 

“We were childhood friends,” Sif protested.

 

“--spoken to once as an adult,” Dr. Hogun amended. “You have no family and no friends, which means you aren’t talking about anything to anyone. A therapist is paid to sit and listen to you, and I think you could benefit greatly from that. Give him a try, Sif; just go once, and if you hate it, don’t go back.”

 

His comment about no friends and family stung, but it was true. She hadn’t told any of her college friends that she was in an accident, and she hadn’t spoken to any of her Atlanta friends since she moved back home. Besides Dr. Hogun and his receptionist, the only real human contact she’d had was with Loki and Jane. And Malekith, if you counted delivery boys (which she didn’t).

 

It couldn’t hurt, right? At worst, this Dr. Coulson would be a waste of time. At best, maybe he could be….useful.

 

“Fine,” she grumbled. “But if I hate him, you’re footing the bill.”

 

“Deal,” Dr. Hogun said, knowing full well her medical bills were being paid court-ordered by the fool who hit her.

 

Fifteen minutes later, Sif stood outside Dr. Coulson’s practice. It was a smallish building, about a mile and a half away from her house. The sign above the door, “Mack’s Taxidermy--You Snuff ‘Em, We Stuff ‘Em” told her everything she needed to know. What kind of ridiculous shrink couldn’t be bothered to replace the sign when he took over the lease?

 

Still, she’d promised Dr. Hogun she’d give this therapy thing a try, so she had to go in, if for no other reason than to collect a list of reasons why she should never come back.

 

Pushing open the door, a bell chime announced her entrance. A young man sat behind the reception desk, flipping through a Guns R Us magazine. His sandy hair was cropped close, looking vaguely military, and his attire was definitely not office-appropriate. At least his white tank showcased his well formed muscles. Sif could appreciate a well-toned man.

 

He didn’t look up until she was standing at the desk, and even then she had to slap her hand on the counter to get his attention. His head shot up and he snapped, “What?”

 

“You know, when a customer--or patient, whatever it is you shrink guys call your clients--walks in, as a receptionist you’re supposed to greet and assist them.”

 

“Yeah, babe, I know,” he said. “Boss man’s getting on me all the time about that.” Clearly the boss man wasn’t doing a very good job of getting through. Sif’s irritation increased.

 

“My name is Sif Schelder, and apparently I have an appointment.”

 

“Oh! Right! Appointments,” he said, flipping on a computer that looked to be older than Sif was. “Hold on; we’ve got to wait for Lola here to wake up.”

 

He named his computer. Loki would have a field day with this--

 

Not that she was thinking about Loki, because she wasn’t.

 

“Please tell me I’m not your first appointment of the day,” Sif said.

 

The man looked up. “Okay.”

 

That was the same kind of irritating non-answer He Who Shall Not Be Named would have given in high school. With that in mind, Sif opted to keep her mouth shut rather than engage the man in conversation.

 

Lola, true to her old age, took close to five minutes to fully wake up before the receptionist could look up her appointment, at which point the computer promptly crashed. Sif tried not to ground her teeth while he pulled out their appointment book, which was apparently kept as a backup due to the unreliability of Lola.

 

“Sif Schelder?” he asked, finger tapping the only name written in the ledger.

 

“Yes,” she said through gritted teeth, reminding herself that telling this fool what she thought of him would do her no good.

 

“You’re five minutes late for you appointment,” he said. “That’s going to be an extra--”

 

“So help me if you try to charge me extra for a mistake that was all yours, I will pick up my crutch and insert it into your spleen.”

 

“--five minutes tacked onto the end of your session! Right this way.”

 

Sif followed him around the corner and into a large office filled with expensive black leather furniture. There was a stereotypical daybed for lying down ( _not_ covered in tissue paper, like a real doctor be) beside a large armchair, both positioned in front of a large recliner. Behind the recliner was a dark wood desk with darker scrollwork down the corners, the fancy kind Odin would have in his home office. And probably his work office, too.

 

Seated behind the desk in a leather chair was a man Sif assumed to be Dr. Coulson. He looked to be in his late forties, balding on top but dressed impeccably in a dark blue suit. A black placard with his name written in scrolling gold sat at the end of the desk. His hands were folded neatly atop the desk, and he was smiling at her much like a father would; Sif immediately felt at ease with him.

 

“Your appointment is here,” the young man said.

 

“Thank you, Hunter,” Dr. Coulson said. “You may go.” The young man--Hunter--lingered a moment before exiting. Sif waited until the door was fully closed behind him before sitting herself in the armchair.

 

She and Dr. Coulson eyed each other, the silence stretching uncomfortably long as neither said anything. Sif, not wanting to be here, figured it was this man’s professional responsibility to open lines of communication. If he didn’t want to do so, she was content to sit in silence, staring each other down.

 

Their unofficial staring contest went on for a full five minutes before Dr. Coulson cleared his throat. Childishly, Sif gloated in the fact that she’d won.

 

“So,” Dr. Coulson said. “You’re Sif. I didn’t think you’d actually show.”

 

Sif had no idea how to respond to that, so she changed the subject. “I see you’re not a taxidermy business.”

 

“We didn’t want to mount anything new,” Coulson said.

 

“You’re not going to get a lot of business if you don’t advertise.”

 

“Noted. Now, Ms. Schelder, you’re here to talk about you, so why don’t you catch me up to speed.”

 

Everything came down to this. Was she going to take Dr. Hogun up on his challenge, or walk out without even trying?

 

Quitting wasn’t part of Sif’s vocabulary--or it hadn’t been before the accident. She used to take every challenge in stride, making it a point to always give it her all, which was how she managed to earn and keep her full-ride track scholarship in college. But in the past nine weeks, she’d fallen away from that. _I can do hard things_ had turned into _breathing is hard, so I guess I don’t have to do anything._  She didn’t even get off the couch except to pee and answer the door for takeout.

 

If she ever wanted to return to her former self, she was going to have to give life a try sometime.

 

“Fine,” she said, settling back into the armchair and shifting until she was somewhat comfortable. “But let’s make this clear, Dr. Coulson: I’m only here for Dr. Hogun, and I don’t believe in sharing my feelings, and I’m not afraid of my own ketchup bottle. I still think therapy’s kind of stupid and you’re definitely not a real doctor.” Coulson’s amused smile did nothing to boost her confidence. “But I’ve got to try something some time, so I guess you’re my starting point. But I don’t expect to come back after today.”

 

Coulson nodded. “That’s fair.”

 

All right then. With that out of the way, Sif only had one more question. “All this is covered under doctor/patient confidentiality, right? So everything I say stays private?”

 

“Of course,” Dr. Coulson said. “Therapy wouldn’t be very useful if we spilled your secrets.”

 

“That includes that Hunter kid, the one at the front desk? He stays in the dark?”

 

“Pinky swear,” Coulson said solemnly.

 

It was strange, considering how Sif felt about shrinks, but there was something in Coulson’s demeanor that was comforting, something that whispered she could trust him. She felt completely at ease, and more than that, believed him when he said her words were private. Of course he had to say that; it was probably part of a legal clause somewhere or something (Loki the Lawyer would know, her mind interjected traitorously), but she also _believed_ him, and it was that more than anything that allowed her to start talking.

 

She imagined this must be what it felt like to want to confide in a father, and for a flash of a moment, she mourned the father she couldn’t remember.

 

“My story starts when I was three. My parents died, so I moved in with my Aunt Win.”

 

“What did your parents die of?” Coulson interrupted.

 

“Car accident. Drunk driver. I didn’t know what that meant at the time, but I knew it was bad from the way the grownups wouldn’t talk about it with me.” She actually knew nothing of the sort. She’d been three; she didn’t know anything back then. But she’d figured it out eventually and inserted it into her memories, and anyway, if she gave every minute detail, she’d be sitting here for six years trying to explain her life to the shrink. “This is the second start of my story, because Aunt Win lived next door to the Odinsons, and they had twin sons my age.”

 

A flash of interest crossed Coulson’s face at the mention of the Odinsons, but it was gone as soon as she saw it. “And let me guess,” he said. “These two sons ended being your primary romantic interests and have plagued you your entire adult life?”

 

It sounded so simple when he said it like that, and so horrifyingly pathetic that Sif stared at Dr. Coulson, temporarily incapable of speech. Dr. Coulson looked up from the notepad he was scribbling on, his eyebrows going up in surprise.

 

“You can’t be serious,” he said. “I said that as a joke.”

 

“Oh no,” Sif half said, half moaned. “Can my life be summed up so succinctly?”

 

“Er…”

 

“And so centered around _boys_?” she wailed. “How did it come to this?”

 

Calmly, he said, “Before you confine yourself to such a narrow box, perhaps you ought to tell me the whole story. I’m sure you are more varied and complicated than you are at present giving yourself credit for.”

 

Sif wasn’t so sure. Here she was, 28, stuck at home and mooning over her married high school crush. Pathetically centered around a boy sounded about right to her.

 

“ _Breathe_ , Ms. Schelder.”

 

“I am breathing!”

 

“You’re pale and look to be on the verge of passing out, so no, I don’t think you are.”

 

Taking in a deep gulp of air, Sif decided he was right. Breathing and finishing her story should come before a total panic melt down. She could do this.

 

“I played with Thor and Loki--my neighbors--my whole childhood. We were all friends and were together more often than we weren’t, running back and forth between houses.”

 

“So they were like the brothers you never had,” Coulson said.

 

Sif glared at him. “Do not make this weird!” He held up his hands in apology, so she continued. “When we were little, Loki went through a phase where he thought girls were stupid, so he was always telling me I wasn’t good enough because I was a girl. And, I mean, _okay_ , maybe I kind of deserved it since Thor and I went out of our way to torment Loki, but he was just such an easy target, you know? He reacted to _everything_. It would have been cruel not to take advantage of him.”

 

“Sounds like a brother to me,” Coulson murmured.

 

What she needed was a bag of frozen peas. Frozen peas were disgusting, and had only one true use in life: to flick at people when they said stupid things. Coulson definitely needed a frozen pea to the face right about now.

 

Choosing to ignore him, Sif related the kissing tale, giving Dr. Coulson the detailed version she’d held back from Jane, including the fact that she dated Volstagg specifically so she wouldn’t have to date Loki, even though she’d kind of wanted to.

 

“Just to clarify,” Coulson said, “you dated someone to avoid dating this Loki, then dated his best friend to make him jealous, then, when he got mad at you, dated his brother?”

 

She really hated having her life analyzed; it made her sound even more like the tragic boy-centered cretin she was beginning to realize she actually was.

 

“And then?” Coulson prompted.

 

“Loki and I got closer because we both hated Amora, and we spent all of Junior year together, hanging out and studying.

 

“He’s got quite the temper and blows the smallest issues grossly out of proportion, but that boy can _talk_. I’d listen to an audiobook on the history of dust mites if he were the one to read it. And that’s saying something, because I can’t remember the last time I read a book. But he reads all the time. All the time! At least, he did in high school. Always a book in hand, and if you couldn’t find him around the house, he was at the bookstore--back when we had bookstores. Now I guess he could probably be found book shopping online. I wonder if he uses an e-reader?” The furious scribbling of pen on paper reminded Sif she was not helping her case of being a strong, independent female. She really needed help.

 

“I knew I liked him. I thought about him all the time and, and I’m not proud to admit this, visualized us attending prom together. And then Senior year started, and have you been to high school, Dr. Coulson? Everything Senior year is about final chances and the future, and I realized if I didn’t do anything, I’d miss my chance with Loki and I’d regret it for the rest of my life.” How prophetic that had been. Not that she regretted anything; she was far past regretting. Yup. Had better things to do with her life, like pretending to weed a garden.

 

“So you didn’t tell him and now you regret it?” Coulson asked. Sif sent him a brief glare. “Or you dated him, and then he broke your heart, but you never got over the breakup?” If only. Then at least she’d have something to hold onto, instead of this nothingness that passed between the two of them. Mildly, Coulson asked, “If not either of those, then what?”

 

“Nothing,” Sif said flatly. Somehow she’d ended up with her feet hanging over the side of the armchair, head lying back against the other armrest. She started at the ceiling, trying not to feel irritated. “I got up the courage to ask him out, and as I was opening my mouth to do so, he told me he was dating someone.”

 

That had been a whole new level of hurt, worse than knowing she had no parents. She’d felt betrayed, like everything they’d shared the previous year was meaningless. But she also couldn’t say any of that, because they’d never made any real promises and he owed her nothing. So she’d pasted on a plastic smile and stopped hanging out with him unless he and Sigyn specifically invited her to do something.

 

“And now that he’s moved back in beside you, all your old feelings are resurfacing,” Coulson said. “You should have just dated him when you kissed him. Then none of this would have happened.”

 

Turning her head to glare, Sif was tempted to bare her teeth at the man. “Yes, thank you,” she said sarcastically. “I never thought of that myself, and now that I know how to fix all of my current life problems, I’ll just hop in my time machine and fly back to when I was 15 and make a different choice!” She eyed him disdainfully. “You are not very good at your job,” she pronounced, but that did not seem to disturb him in the slightest.

 

“Then, barring time travel, perhaps you ought to kiss him now and see if it solves all your problems.”

 

“He’s married!” she said, affronted.

 

“He is?” Coulson said, sounding like it was news to him. Surely she’d mentioned that? “Well, then it seems to me you have one of two choices: confront him head on, or avoid him.”

 

She reverted to glaring at him. “I’m not done talking,” she mulishly, disinterested in accepting either one of the choices. “I have fifteen minutes left, so let’s discuss in great detail my reunion with the man.”

 

Coulson didn’t say anything and kept his face carefully neutral, but the twitch in his hand told her how pleased he wasn’t with her proclamation.

 

As her session drew to a close, Sif had to admit it felt good to talk about Loki. For the first time in a long time, she felt like a small weight was removed from her shoulders, and the thought of returning home didn’t seem to terrible.

 

“Thank you,” she said sincerely, holding out her hand to shake Coulson’s. “I’m surprised to say it, but I think this may have helped.”

 

His eyes held mild surprise as he clasped her hand in return. “I’m glad,” he said, the words sounding foreign in his mouth. Sif wondered how many other patients had said that. “Does this mean you’ll be...returning?”

 

Couldn’t hurt. Worst thing that could happen was nothing, and that wasn’t any worse than what was already going on in her life. She nodded firmly. “Yes, I think I will. I’ll make an appointment with Hunter on my way out.”

 

Hunter seemed more surprised than Coulson that she wished to return. “You sure, mate?” he asked.

 

“Sure enough to schedule every Thursday at one,” she said. “Might as well do it on the same day as my doctor’s appointments, kill two birds with one stone and all that.”

 

“Huh,” Hunter said, penciling her in for the following week. Sif noticed his page was blank except for her name. “Would you look at that.”

 

Sif called an Uber to come pick her up, feeling lighter than she had in weeks. She even managed to smile on the ride home.

 

Of course, it all came crashing down the moment she and Loki pulled up at the same moment. She didn’t mean to look at him, but there was something about the Odinson boy that was like a trainwreck, and she just couldn’t look away.

 

The second their eyes met, she felt it straight to her soul, so she booked it for the front door, slamming it closed behind her.

 

Oh yeah. She needed therapy. Good thing she was going back next week.

 


	3. Help Me Up, Let's Keep on Running

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This story is brought to you by [Eienvine](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Eienvine/pseuds/Eienvine). She's the reason I got into Sifki in the first place, and the reason I finished writing anything. For all you writers out there, find a friend to read your stuff who says nice things. It's amazing what that will do for your motivation.

Loki planned his life out early, once he realized brains were the vehicle to being rich. He studied hard, worked hard, and naturally got accepted into every Ivy League school he applied for (all of them). Stanford had always been his top choice, as it was as far from home as he could get and still be in the country. New York made an ideal work location: large city, too many people, and, again, far from home. He had a nice apartment and worked out just enough to stay fit but not so much he drew attention to himself. He never spoke of exercise, never mentioned the word _kale_ , and only brought up politics when he was making an argument in court.

 

He did, however, quote Cicero and Homer like the layman should be familiar with their works, and was not above a pointed sneer when the everyman couldn’t keep up with his intellectual conversation.

 

No one had ever applied the word _kind_ to him, but otherwise, he was the type of man women fantasized about.

 

So on that fateful morning in late August when he couldn’t button his pants, Loki’s whole world came to a standstill and he swore.

 

When did he start getting soft about the middle?

 

“JANE!” he bellowed up the stairs. When he didn’t get a response, he took them two at a time and found his sister-in-law sitting comfortably at the kitchen table, eating a bowl of oatmeal while reading the _Times_. Snatching the paper out of her hand--who bought actual paper newspapers anymore?--he said, “Jane. I’m in _crisis_.”

 

“I was reading that,” she replied calmly, reaching around him in a failed attempt to retrieve her property.

 

“Crisis, sister dear.”

 

Giving up with a huff, Jane leaned back in her seat and crossed her arms. “If I listen to you, will you give me back my paper?” she asked. “I’ve got a limited amount of time before I have to go to work.”

 

“Hear me out, and not only will I return your paper, but I’ll spend two hours in your classroom helping you put it together.”

 

“Well, now, this must be desperate,” Jane said, suddenly all smiles. “Tell me of your woes.”

 

Setting the paper on the table, Loki pointed to his pants. “They don’t fit,” he said.

 

Jane’s face contorted into amusement, and Loki decided it was a horrible look on her. “Has Loki, New York God of Fashion, become mortal?” she asked, a glint of glee in her eyes. “Had one too many take out menus from Heimdall’s? Realizing lazing about the house doesn’t actually keep you fit?”

 

“ _Jane_ ,” he said, utter anguish painting his tone, “I don’t know what to _do_.”

 

“Walking more than five steps at a time might be a start,” Jane said. “Or you could accept that bodies change as you get older, and you’re no longer in the prime of your life.”

 

“Women don’t like a flabby man,” he retorted. “Your husband is a perfect example.”

 

“Mmm,” Jane said in such a romantic tone that Loki instantly regretted mentioning his brother. “While Thor’s muscles are certainly a boon, I didn’t marry him because of them.” He wanted to doubt her words, but having witnessed first-hand just how disgustingly lovey-dovey Jane and Thor were, Loki knew there was more there than physical attraction. “And I daresay, Sif seems like a lovely young lady. I don’t think she’d judge you for going up a pant size.”

 

“She’s a professional martial artist,” Loki said. “Her entire life revolves around athleticism. _Of course_ she would care.”

 

“Hah!” Jane said victoriously. “I knew it. You do still think of her romantically.”

 

Loki really needed to get back into the habit of thinking before he spoke. Now he had to perform damage control and make sure Jane didn’t interfere. “Irrelevant. Sif is dating someone,” he lied.

 

“She is?” Jane asked in surprise. “Well, good for her. I hope he’s worth her time.”

 

It was irrational, considering he’d told Sif he was married, but he hoped she wasn’t dating anybody at all. He still liked to think he had a chance with her, and having someone concrete in her life made that all the more difficult.

 

“It doesn’t matter, Jane, because her dating life holds no sway over whether or not my pants fasten.”

 

That infuriating smile of amusement returned to Jane’s face. “Go on a walk,” she said. “A long one.”

 

“That doesn’t solve my immediate problem!”

 

Jane shrugged. “Nothing will. If you need a larger pair of pants, you can borrow my pregnancy jeans” her wicked smile said she knew exactly how he felt about that “or anything of Thor’s.” That would never do. His brother had twice his girth; always had. “Or we can go shopping after work,” she said sweetly.

 

“I hate you,” he said and stalked away.

 

Returning to his room, Loki searched through his drawers for his athletic shorts. He hadn’t touched them since returning home, and he was sorely regretting that choice.

 

Thankfully his shorts and t-shirts still fit. Once appropriately outfitted, Loki bid Jane farewell and left the house. He wasn’t returning until he’d sweated out his body weight.

 

Sif’s house was dark, as always. Loki couldn’t tell if she was never home or was the hermit Malekith claimed her to be. Either way, he was glad they rarely crossed paths. While he may secretly dream of getting a second chance with her, he didn’t actually want a second chance, because that would mean admitting he’d lied about being married, and he’d rather get hit by a car.

 

The neighborhood wasn’t large enough to work up an adequate sweat, so Loki had to venture past the old cemetery, the old taxidermist shop, and the old farmer’s market, alternating between a swift walk and slow jog. The burning in his lungs reminded him it had been too long since last he exerted himself physically, which explained why his pants didn’t fit properly.

 

Determined not to become his father, Loki incorporated mild jogging into his daily routine. He left the house with Jane at 7:30, her to work and him to jog, grateful that Sif never seemed to be around at that time. She would mock him for certain, after years of refusing to exercise where the public would see him.

 

In New York, Loki utilized the company gym at odd hours when he would have the smallest possible audience. He missed his private gym, but was unwilling to join one here in Vanaheim. Jogging in the open for all the world to see was distasteful to him, but it had the benefit of being free. Since quitting his firm, he hadn’t decided what to do with the rest of his life, and so was living off his meager savings. The fewer things he spent money on, the longer he could remain unemployed as he “found himself.”

 

It sounded stupid even in his own head; gritting his teeth, Loki pushed himself to run harder.

 

A week in, Loki flung himself into his chair at the breakfast table. “It’s not working,” he said irritatedly, stealing Jane’s peanut butter toast. She swatted his hand, but let him take a bite. “My pants still don’t fit right.”

 

“Did it ever occur to you that running for an hour does not offset lying on the couch the remaining 23 hours of the day?” she asked.

 

“It did when I was in high school,” Loki whined.

 

“Again, might I point out the degradation of human bodies?”

 

“Please don’t.”

 

For the first time in his life, Loki had an overabundance of free time, and he, like most Americans, spent it watching Netflix. It turned out NCIS was exactly as addictive as everyone said, and if Ziva reminded him somewhat of Sif (in temperament and kick-assness, if not actual appearance), well, that was purely coincidental.

 

Still. Watching that much TV was not helping his…. _plushiness_ , though he would never say that to Jane.

 

Eight days into his self-imposed jogging exile, Loki went out later than usual. He’d gotten caught up in season 4, invested in the La Grenouille storyline--and the abominable butchering the characters did of the word _grenouille_ \--and stayed up even later than normal. Jane was gone by the time he emerged from his cave, and the sun was high in the sky. He debated skipping his daily run, but decided the extra heat would just help him sweat faster into his designer jeans.

 

Three blocks from home, he rounded the corner and pirouetted to avoid running head first into Sif.

 

Her hair had grown, was the first thing he noticed, though it was clear it was not being styled. Her leggings and oversized shirt were quite fetching, and he hated himself for noticing. Her right foot was encased in a walking boot. How long had that been there, and how had he not noticed it before?

 

Oh, right. Because he was actively avoiding her.

 

“Sif,” he acknowledged.

 

She squeaked and scurried away.

 

Loki allowed himself to feel irritated for five seconds before reminding himself that her avoidance of him made avoiding her that much easier.

 

Unfortunately, the floodgates appeared to have opened, and he started running into Sif everywhere. When he ran into her the next morning at 7:45 in front of an abandoned house, she appeared shocked he’d vacated his home before noon. When they bumped into each other two days later at 8:30 while passing the home of a scowling twenty-something man, she demanded to know why he couldn’t stick to a schedule, nevermind that he was (she stomped off before he could inform her of this). Deciding there was no way Sif was wandering the neighborhood at noon in the Georgia August heat, he thought fate must be conspiring against him when he found her walking on the street opposite him one block from their homes.

 

“No! This is my neighborhood! I moved back here first!” Sif yelled as she backtracked to her house.

 

Loki didn’t get why she was so upset. It’s not like she had reason to be avoiding him.

 

“Maybe, but I lived here first!” he yelled after her retreating form. Scrubbing his hands through his hair, Loki hating feeling like he’d just lost.

 

“It’s not her neighborhood,” Loki said to Jane that night over dinner (takeout again--maybe Jane was right about his eating habits). “I can walk around it freely if I want to. And I don’t need her permission!” He growled in frustration, shoving a forkful of chicken in his mouth. “I don't know what she’s mad about anyway. And why is she wearing that stupid boot!”

 

“You talk about her an awful lot for someone you’re not interested in,” Jane said.

 

“Because she’s a blight on the face of the neighborhood,” he muttered. “That yard of hers is an eyesore.”

 

“She does have a broken foot,” Jane reminded him. “Maybe instead of complaining about her yard, you could help her clean it up.”

 

Loki huffed. “ _You_ help her clean it up.”

 

“I’m pregnant.”

 

“That excuse won’t hold forever.”

 

“But it will until March!”

 

Service. It was the kind of idea Thor would implement, but Loki didn’t believe in yard work. Money was invented so he could pay someone to do the chores he didn’t want to do. And as he was in between sources of income, he was unable to help Sif out in that department.

 

“She would probably appreciate the help,” Jane mused. “Strapping young man coming to her rescue, showcasing his strength as he sweats in the sun while laboring for her benefit. I’ll admit, that’s a hard ticket to ignore.”

 

Not that he was currently in possession of a body he wanted to show off. Or that he’d be caught dead doing his own yard work, let alone someone else’s.

 

“How did she break her foot, anyway?” Loki asked.

 

“I don’t know. She wouldn’t tell me because she didn’t want you to know.”

 

And since Sif thought Jane was his wife, naturally she assumed Jane would tell her husband everything. Loki sighed. This lie of his was increasingly becoming a problem. “She probably did something stupid like kick a soccer ball too hard,” he said unkindly. Jane just shrugged.

 

“You could always ask,” she said.

 

Staring out the window, Loki didn’t give any credence to the suggestion. Asking involved interaction, and he needed to keep his distance.

 

Still. He couldn’t quite kill the nugget of worry that lodged itself in the back of his brain.

 

But he could ignore it. “Ice cream?” he asked, pushing Sif from the forefront of his mind.

 

*

 

Sif threw herself into Coulson’s armchair. “I’m going on walks like you and Hogun told me to,” she began without preamble, “and now I’m running into Loki everywhere! What is he doing wandering the neighborhood in the middle of the day, anyway? Doesn’t he have to work?”

 

She knew he was a lawyer. Frigga had been very proud of Loki’s education and spoke of it often with Aunt Win. Living at home as he was, Sif initially assumed he’d picked up a job in Vanaheim. Once she realized he rarely left the house, she adjusted her assumptions to include working at home. Now with him popping up everywhere like a whack-a-mole, she was beginning to wonder just what it was he did with his time.

 

“You could just follow him around and figure out his schedule,” Coulson suggested, idly tapping his mouth with his pen.

 

Sif’s face wrinkled with horror. “You want me to _stalk_ him? That’s a horrible idea!”

 

“Hm. I suppose it is.”

 

“And, I mean, anyway, that would just put me in _more_ contact with him, which is like the opposite of what I’m trying to achieve. I need some sort of drone to follow him around or something.”

 

“Because that’s not stalking,” Coulson muttered so quietly she wasn’t quite sure she heard correctly.

 

“What?”

 

“Have you considered talking to him?” Coulson asked drily. “Because I bet he’s the foremost expert on how he spends his day.”

 

“I have more dignity than that,” Sif replied. Coulson quirked a brow at her. “I do!” she insisted. His silence spoke volumes. “I thought therapists weren’t supposed to pass judgment,” she groused.

 

“I’m not passing judgment.”

 

“Your smirky silence says you are.”

 

Coulson sighed and wrote something in his notebook. Sif craned her neck, but his giant desk blocked her view.

 

“Have you considered picking up a new obsession?” he asked her, as he did every week. “Gardening, maybe? Spider slaying? The Kardashians?”

 

“I watch TV,” she muttered defensively.

 

“No, you stare at the TV. You’ve started seventeen new shows since I met you, and you can’t recite the plot of a single episode.”

 

“I’m easily distracted.”

 

“That’s not what your file says.”

 

Sif sat up straight. “You have a file on me?” she asked, eyes scanning his office for some elusive manila folder with her name stamped across the front, preferably with a TOP SECRET stamped across that.

 

Coulson nodded. “It claims you are driven and hard-working, and are not easily distracted, especially when performing physical feats.”

 

Sif tilted her head. “Where did you get this file?” she asked suspiciously.

 

“Doctor doctor confidentiality,” he said. Freaking Hogun. She needed a new doctor. “Speaking of physical feats, how are you handling your broken foot?”

 

She knew he was changing the subject, but she let it slide. Better talk about her foot than her lack of drive. “Dr. Hogun says I can get the boot off next week. I’m not cleared to do anything more strenuous than walk, but I finally feel like maybe I can get my old life back.”

 

“The old life that doesn’t involve Loki Odinson, or the old old life that does?”

 

She’d been seeing this man for two weeks--three if you counted today--and he knew entirely too much about her. “My life does not center around Loki,” she said defensively.

 

“You’re right. So let’s talk about Thor.”

 

Sif made an aggravated sound in her throat. “Let’s talk about my lack of parents instead,” she said. “They were killed by a drunk driver, you know. I’ve got all kinds of unresolved issues about the subject of alcohol.”

 

“Do you now,” Coulson said, unconvinced.

 

“Yup!” Sif said cheerily. “Alcohol is bad. Alcohol kills. Why do we let our media encourage underage drinking? I’m so angry I could hit something.”

 

Coulson said nothing, but his pointed stare at her smile did. She dropped it into a scowl. “I do hate drinking,” she said mulishly. “It’s why I’m here in the first place.”

 

“Mm-hmm.”

 

“People shouldn’t do it.”

 

“I believe our country tried that. Prohibition, was it?”

 

“I could make this into my pet cause! Rally the troops, preach the ills of getting drunk!”

 

“So how does it make you feel knowing Loki got a DUI last week?”

 

“He _what_?” shouted Sif, leaping to her feet and seeing red. “That dirty little ingrate--”

 

Coulson jotted something down on his pad. “See, it’s Loki that makes you irate, not the alcohol. You didn’t even ask to confirm my source, more interested in his perceived transgression than actual evidence. I think you’re looking for reasons to be mad at him; it’s easier than admitting you have feelings and facing up to them.”

 

With a huff, Sif sat back down, crossing her arms. So what if she didn’t want to face up to her feelings? It’s not like she had to. It’s not like that’s what therapy was for.

 

She snuck a look at Coulson’s face, but it was impassively blank as always. Someday she was going to learn how he managed to completely keep his emotions in check.

 

“Is it so wrong to want to ignore my feelings?” she asked, dropping her hands to her lap. “He’s married, so I’m ashamed that I’m still interested. I’m not a ho-bag, and the last thing I want to do is break up anyone’s happy home. If I just never think about him or talk about him or acknowledge his existence, then I don’t have to worry about doing something stupid or making anyone uncomfortable. Hard to make a fool out of yourself when you’re holed up in your house.”

 

“So instead you’d rather be the kind of neighbor people have to worry about turning into a serial killer.”

 

Well, when he put it like that.

 

“Loki could be my first victim,” she said helpfully.

 

“I worry about you.”

 

They sat in silence for the next few minutes. Sif didn’t know if this was standard therapist behavior, but she liked that he didn’t fill the silences. It made her feel like there was room to breathe.

 

Coulson spoke first. “That marks the end of today’s session.”

 

Sif slid her phone out of her purse and checked the time. It was technically the end of her scheduled time, but she knew for a fact no one was scheduled after her (or before her, either. She wondered sometimes how he made money). “But I’ve only been here for half an hour. I schedule an hour!”

 

“Yes, but you were thirty minutes late.”

 

“Because I was avoiding--” Loki who left his house just before her, and stood in his driveway talking on his cell phone for fifteen minutes. “--having to get off the couch,” she lied.

 

He didn’t look fooled, but didn’t address her lie, either. “My suggestion to you is talk to this man and face your problems head on. I’ll see you next week, Sif.”

 

No matter how she wheedled, Coulson did not budge as he politely escorted her to the door while reminding her to be prompt next week. In no time at all, Sif found herself on the outside of his now-locked practice.

 

Damn Loki. He’d made her miss half of her human interaction for the week.

 

As if to make up for it, Sif ran into Loki _every_ _day_ in the following week. It didn’t matter what time she left for a walk, she inevitably met up with Loki before returning home. Their encounters were usually stuttered hellos (her end), cool, disdainful brows (his end) and awkward partings (both of them).

 

The fifth time it happened, Sif yelled at him. “What do you do with your life that you’re always underfoot?”

 

“Me? What imaginary source of income are you living off of?”

 

“The same one as you, apparently,” she said, then pointed behind him and said, “What in the world could that be?” and ran off while Loki was turned away.

 

Highly mature. She was acting like she was fifteen again and pretending she hadn’t kissed him.

 

Dr. Hogun finally gave leave to remove her walking boot. Sif had been wearing it for so long that she’d almost forgotten what a naked foot felt like. Twisting her foot around and wiggling her toes, Sif asked when she could return to martial arts. “Let’s take it slow,” Dr. Hogun said. “If it was just your foot that was broken, I’d push you faster sooner, but combined with all your other injuries, we need to be careful about re-injuring yourself.”

 

The conclusion was she had should continue her daily walks, and start implementing 15 minute jogging sessions twice a week. A return to martial arts was a long way off.

 

Even though she’d told Coulson she would never stalk Loki, Sif decided it wasn’t such a bad idea. Not actually stalking him, of course, but getting a general feel for his schedule so she could best avoid him.

 

It took her seven days to figure out he predominantly went walking...or jogging...or whatever his long-limbed stork movements qualified as...first thing in the morning after seeing Jane off to wherever trophy wives went in the morning (an unkind and unfair thought, she knew, as Jane had been nothing but polite in their brief interactions, but the other option was admitting Jane was a superior specimen of humanity, and Sif wasn’t that magnanimous yet). He was never gone for less than an hour, never more than 2, meaning Sif should be safe leaving her house after ten in the morning (except for that one time he went out in the middle of the afternoon, but as far as she could tell, that was a fluke).

 

Other than that, Sif couldn’t tell if he ever left his house.

 

Determined not to care, Sif started spending only three quarters of her day on the couch instead of all of it. The other quarter she was either out walking around or trying to tidy up Aunt Win’s house. It wasn’t overly messy, but there was a lifetime of clutter stored in closets and cupboards, most of which had no meaning to Sif and needed to be removed. Anything that looked functional, she donated to the Salvation Army. Anything that looked like trash or she couldn’t figure out the purpose for, went to the dump. Or rather it went to a pile in the garage that was intended for the dump. To be honest, she didn’t know where the dump was, nor was she inclined to haul all the junk there herself.

 

She did come across several manuscripts. Aunt Win appeared to favor writing longhand, as Sif found nearly 200 journals filled with stories. Some were obviously trashy ( _Quivering Heaps, Mounds of Passion,_ and _Hills of Desire_ \--she wasn’t willing to look past the titles), while others looked like they had promise.

 

Grabbing a journal at random, Sif skimmed through an untitled work about a doctor and a lawyer fighting a custody battle over their chihuahua. Everything went to hell when the local mob, desperate to get the doctor to operate on their leader, kidnapped the chihuahua and held it for ransom. Naturally, this brought the doctor and lawyer back together.

 

Another story told of an ancient Norse god who came to earth and fell in love with a beautiful scientist. Her mortality was an obstacle since he’d outlive her, but it sure wasn’t stopping them from going at it in the here and now. Sif hurriedly tossed that story aside, face red.

 

The third story she flipped through told of next door neighbor kids who’d grown up teasing each other relentlessly, but everything changed when the girl attack-kissed the boy when they were fifteen. There was a comedy of errors involving dating best friends and leggy cheerleaders, but it wasn’t until the protagonist starting dating her hero’s brother that Sif slammed the manuscript shut in embarrassment.

 

She _really_ hoped Aunt Win had never published this one. She couldn’t imagine the humiliation if Jane or Loki ever came across it.

 

Closing the closet door, Sif made a mental note to get a padlock. Possibly an alarm system. No one ever needed access to that closet.

 

Her greatest achievement to date came when she made it through an entire session with Coulson without mentioning Loki once. Coulson clearly kept trying to steer the conversation back to him, but without outright saying she needed to discuss her erstwhile crush, she refused to give in. It was a fleeting victory, however, as Loki jogged past the door to Coulson’s office just as she was trying to leave.

 

With a startled gasp, Sif stepped backward and slammed the door shut. Hunter looked at her like she was a loon, so Sif claimed an immediate and extremely pressing need to use the facilities.

 

It was the middle of the day. Why wasn’t that cretin keeping to his schedule?

 

She needed to move.

 

Back at home, Jane was just returning from wherever she’d been. Upon spying Sif exiting her Uber, Jane detoured from her house to Sif’s. _Smile_ she reminded herself, and when it came out as more of a grimace, she lifted her fingers to her face and pushed the corners of her mouth up. Jane, noticing, laughed.

 

“Tough day?” she asked.

 

“Something like that,” Sif responded.

 

Jane gestured to Sif’s foot. “I see you got your boot off. That’s great! You should come over for dinner and we’ll celebrate.”

 

Alarm bells went off in Sif’s head. That was the worst possible idea, especially given the painfully awkward and uncomfortable interactions she and Loki had been sharing of late. Not to mention the last thing she wanted was for Jane to realize Sif was still harboring overly fond feelings toward her husband.

 

“No,” she said firmly, with a tiny drop of venom in her voice. “The last thing I want to do is sit through a meal at Loki Odinson’s table.”

 

And she winced. Might as well carry a neon sign around that says CAN’T STOP OBSESSING OVER LOKI.

 

Jane, thankfully, didn’t seem to pick up on Sif’s thoughts, instead frowning thoughtfully as she said, “I thought all of your drama with Loki was over and done with in high school…?”

 

She had, too, until they both moved home at approximately the same time and she discovered oh no, it wasn’t.

 

She needed a new line of conversation.

 

“So how did you meet. . . your husband?” Sif asked, not trusting herself to say his name.

 

A fond smile graced Jane’s lips, and stab of jealousy pierced Sif’s heart. Feelings for Loki aside, she wanted someone in her life who made her smile like that. Someone she could rely on, who could help out with the weed infestation she was actively ignoring, someone who made her want to get off the couch. Someone who negated her need to visit Coulson on a weekly basis. Someone who wanted her as much as she wanted him.

 

There was no way in _hell_ she was ever sitting through a meal with these two.

 

“We met in college,” Jane said. “He needed help with physics, and I was his campus-assigned tutor. He chased after me like a golden retriever, and he was so sweet, I eventually fell in love.”

 

There was no appropriate response. Loki? Need help in physics? It was laughable. That boy got into every Ivy League school in the country, and he was the reason Sif hadn’t failed her SAT. For him to get a tutor meant he had already pegged Jane was his one true love and was going about getting her the only way he thought he could, but Sif didn’t want to burst the happy love-memory-bubble Jane was currently residing in. Did she still think Loki needed intellectual help?

 

Is that why he never left the house--he let her think he was incapable of employment because he lacked the intelligence? But no. He’d graduated from Harvard Law; there was no way his _wife_ wouldn’t know that, especially if they met in college. And if they met in college, that meant they met at Stanford, and you couldn’t get in if you were an idiot.

 

But she wouldn't put it past him to pretend idiocy just to get a girl. And if he only focused on the lawyering liberal arts part of his brain, he could conceivably convince Jane he sucked at physics. But if that was the case, when Sif was able to function normally around him again, she was going to pop him one for lying to his wife.

 

“Our meeting upsets you?” Jane asked, correctly interpreting Sif’s silence. She hurried to explain.

 

“No! I mean, yes. I mean...well, I just can’t see him going for tutoring.”

 

Jane nodded. “It wasn’t his first choice, but sometimes you’ve got to do what you’ve got to do.”

 

Again, Sif had no answer, so she said nothing.

 

Jane didn’t let the silence deter her. “I need to get a start on dinner,” she said, gently patting her stomach. “This one gets cranky if I go too long between eating. You’re still welcome to join us.” Sif politely declined once again. “Then I’ll see you around, Sif.”

 

Jane made it four steps before Sif remembered there was something she wanted to know. “Jane, wait!” she said, and the other woman turned back, a quizzical look on her face. “Every morning I see you leave. What do you do all day?”

 

Pilates. Yoga. Shop. She didn’t look like the manicure type, but maybe a hair salon? “I go to work,” Jane said, and Sif had to physically prevent herself from doing a double take. “I teach physics at the high school.”

 

Loki’s trophy wife was a functional human being?

 

“What does Loki do all day?”

 

Jane huffed. “Good question. He started running because his pants don’t fit, but other than that, I’m not entirely sure he makes use of his higher brain functions.”

 

“ _He doesn’t work?”_

 

“Nope. As he puts it, he’s ‘in between career options.’ It’s a fancy way of saying unemployed.”

 

Sif had no words. How had her high-achieving, Ivy League, Harvard Law, intelligent friend become an unemployed bum living at home while his pretty wife taught physics to teenagers?

 

“Yeah, not his finest hour, but it’s temporary. He decided corporate law wasn’t for him after all, and he’s taking a breather before moving on to something bigger and better. Frigga thinks it’s a good move for him, considering he’s been running nonstop since he graduated high school. Now if I could just get him out of the house once in a while.” Jane smiled and finger waved at Sif. “I’ll see you later.”

 

Sif zombie walked into her house, sitting down on the couch and staring at the TV without really seeing it. She could not mesh her memories of Loki with this current reality, and it was shutting her brain down.

 

It was four hours later when Jane’s comment about _this one getting cranky_ finally registered. “They’re having a baby!” Sif yelped, and suddenly regretted her Loki-free therapy session. She wasn’t going to make it a week before seeing Coulson again.


	4. Say Hi to Your Friends You Ain't Seen in a While

It was two days until therapy, and Sif was right, she wasn’t going to make it.

 

Which is why she sat at her kitchen table, staring at her phone like the coiled king cobra it secretly was.

 

Why was calling for takeout from Heimdall’s within the realm of possibilities, but trying to call an old friend left her paralyzed? She was stronger than this! She literally used to bench press Loki! Surely, _surely_ she could scroll through her contacts and tap _send_ on Volstagg’s number.

 

“I need a fortifying Twinkie,” she announced to no one, and got up to secure the pointless treat.

 

It had been a literal decade since high school, though not quite that long since she last saw Volstagg. They used to get together over Christmas, until Aunt Win started taking Sif on cruises for the holiday, and they hung out the summers between sophomore and junior years of college.

 

Plus he was basically the jolly green giant, without being green. If anybody would be happy to hear from her, it would be Volstagg.

 

Licking the last of the cream filling from her fingers, Sif marched over to the table, tapped on Volstagg, and called.

 

As the phone was ringing, it occurred to her that she could have just texted the man.

 

“Hey!” a familiar voice answered, though it didn’t belong to Volstagg. “You’ve reached Volstagg. His escort services are temporarily unavailable, since his wife’s standing here listening, but if you leave your name and number, I’ll make sure to take care of you personally!”

 

Sif pulled the phone away to stare at it, and sure enough, Volstagg’s name was flashing across the screen. Returning the phone to her ear, Sif cautiously said, “...Fandral?”

 

“My reputation precedes me!” Fandral said in delight. “This is the greatest day ever!”

 

A slow smile curled over Sif’s lips. She hadn’t seen or heard from Fandral since high school. He joined the army right after graduation and didn’t have facebook, so Sif had lost touch with him. “Butterfingers!” she exclaimed. “It’s been ages!”

 

“Hey. I dropped a pass exactly _once_. Once!”

 

“At the state championship, doofus. You’re lucky we didn’t tattoo the nickname on your butt.”

 

“My dear lady Sif, you are too harsh. A name that glorious belongs on a chest where it can be shown off.”

 

Sif laughed. “You would,” she said. “What have you been up to? Why are you answering Volstagg’s phone and trying to get him in trouble for prostitution? What are you doing with your life?”

 

“Twenty questions! I’m good at this game.” Before he could offer any answers, there was a scuffle on the other end, jovial shouting, and the clear sound of the phone being dropped, followed by an irate “ _Fandral!”_

 

The next voice on the phone was unfamiliar to Sif. “I don’t care who this is,” the voice said sternly, “but if you’ll get Fandral and my husband out of the house for the remainder of the day, I will send you several loaves of freshly baked bread and give you fresh butter to boot.”

 

“Deal,” Sif said, already salivating at the thought of eating something homemade.

 

“Text your address and they’ll be over quick like a bunny.”

 

Volstagg’s wife, Sif presumed with some amusement as she sent her address. She couldn’t wait to hear what kind of woman chose to pair herself with Volstagg.

 

Within half an hour, her two old friends showed up at the door, bread, butter, and three Heimdall’s takeout bags in hand. The grin on Volstagg’s face made everything worth it as he picked up Sif and squeezed. She was so happy to see him, she didn’t even tell him his hug left her ribs feeling a might bit tender.

 

“Sif!” Volstagg roared. Adulthood hadn’t made him any quieter or less enthusiastic, Sif was glad to see. “I didn’t believe Fandral when he said you were on the other end!”

 

“And I couldn’t believe he didn’t believe me,” Fandral put in, closing the door behind him. “I’ve no gift for lying. Every word that falls from my lips is a crystallized drop of wisdom.”

 

“Yeah, speaking of--what’s this I hear about you prostituting yourself, Volstagg?” Sif asked, and the two men launched into an elaborate tale wherein the fault clearly belonged to Fandral. Sif couldn’t remember the last time she laughed so hard.

 

Couldn’t remember the last time she laughed, period, for that matter. It was good to see her old friends again.

 

Catching up with the boys did wonders for her spirits. Volstagg had been married for five years and now had two kids. His wife wanted him out of the house because she was hosting a charity quilting. Fandral had originally been tasked with whisking Volstagg away, but upon hearing the guest list, decided they’d be better served by sticking around so he could hit on whatever woman currently had his attention. Sif’s call had been a timely intervention that probably saved Fandral’s life, as Volstagg put it.

 

Fandral let the army put him through college, and liked it so much he recruited Thor. He was currently in the Reserves and working as a model at My Butter Half, part bakery, part wedding boutique, which was probably the most Fandral job in existence.

 

Sif told them about her car accident, but didn’t once mention her Loki issues. She might have opened up if it had just been Volstagg, but Fandral, while a good friend, wasn’t so great on the confidence-keeping thing.

 

They helped her weed half her garden, and Fandral took the opportunity to show off by mowing her lawn shirtless. Sif rolled her eyes, but it brought more than one neighbor outside. The blonde across the street tipped her imaginary hat at Fandral, and the man strutted for the next half hour.

 

“How did he survive in the army without peacocking?” Sif asked, sipping a lemonade next to Volstagg who was violently going after a particularly tough weed.

 

“There are women in the army,” Volstagg said.

 

“Yes, but are there _enough_ women for the likes of our Fandral?”

 

“Point,” Volstagg said, finally yanking the weed out by the roots. “You know, you can hire someone to do your yard work for you.”

 

Sif wrinkled her nose. “But that’s like giving in and admitting I can’t keep up my own house.”

 

“But you can’t.”

 

Sif huffed. That wasn’t the point! She knew she hadn’t truly hit rock bottom so long as she was still theoretically capable of cleaning up her lawn, even if that theoretically never actually happened.

 

Five minutes later Jane returned home from work ( _of course_ she was a teacher, it was basically the most noble profession because did anybody really like anybody else’s kids?), a female friend in tow. Jane waved, then waved more enthusiastically when she caught sight of Fandral and Volstagg. “Janey!” Volstagg shouted, abandoning Sif’s weeds for Loki’s wife. Sif tried not to take it personally. After vigorously hugging the pregnant woman, Volstagg beckoned Sif over. Reluctantly she stood and wished there was someone around to appreciate the fact that she was not currently scowling.

 

“Sif, you didn’t tell me Jane and Loki moved in next door!” Volstagg said loudly. Sif swore the neighbors three streets over could hear him.

 

“It didn’t come up?” she said. “I didn’t realize you knew each other.”

 

“Of course we do!” he boomed. “I got in trouble for drinking too much at the wedding.” He placed his hand on Jane’s stomach. “And now a baby on the way! The next generation of Odinsons! It will be a boy, of course, and he’ll have to marry my Astrid. Unless he looks like Loki; then he’ll scare her off.”

 

Sif pictured a tiny hell demon wearing Loki’s scrunched up sour face with his mother’s fabulous hair, and the smile on her face was genuine.

 

“Sif, I’d like you to meet my friend Darcy Lewis. She teaches biology.”

 

“Hi,” Darcy said, but her eyes were firmly on Fandral. “Who’s that perfect specimen of manhood? He’d make a great live demonstration of the human muscular system.”

 

“Please don’t tell him that,” Volstagg and Sif said in chorus, and shared a smile. “He’s already insufferable,” Sif said.

 

Darcy didn’t look like she minded. “Well, if Muscles ever needs a side job, you can find me via Jane here.”

 

“We need to go,” Jane said. “I need to pee and I need to eat.”

 

“I am never having a baby,” Darcy said. “Except for the whole eating for two thing. I could go for that.”

 

“Now that I know you’re in town, I’ll have you over for dinner,” Volstagg promised. “I’ll be in touch.”

 

The ease with which Volstagg had befriended Jane and Loki made Sif jealous. In high school, Loki wouldn’t have anything to do with Volstagg, due to the unfortunate dating incident. Now they were close enough for dinner dates? While Sif still couldn’t string a normal sentence together around him?

 

It made her petty, so she couldn’t help but part with Jane by saying, “Enjoy dinner. Just don’t tell Frosty that Fandral’s here.”

 

Volstagg groaned as Jane quizzically said, “Frosty?”

 

“Call Loki that,” Sif said sweetly, “then tell me later how many shades of purple he turns.”

 

“You are cruel,” Volstagg said as Jane and Darcy went inside, Darcy’s eyes lingering on Fandral’s sweat-slicked torso.

 

Yeah, she kind of was.

 

The rest of the evening passed pleasantly. They eventually gave up on yard work and turned on ESPN to watch the Georgia Southern game, which involved a lot of yelling at the TV and name-calling of the refs.

 

When the boys finally went home, Sif couldn’t stop smiling. It was good to have friends; they served as an excellent distraction, and gussied up her yard enough (somewhat; it was also somewhat hopeless) that she might soon stop being the shame of the neighborhood.

 

Just after the boys drove away, the blonde from across the street crossed over and approached Sif. If she asked after Fandral, Sif’s smile was going to slip away and be replaced with something menacing.

 

“Hi! I’m Bee Johnson from the neighborhood watch,” she said, large Southern smile pasted on her face. Sif hated how natural the woman made it look. “We’ve been getting reports lately of strange individuals skulking around and hiding by fences of houses they don’t belong to. I’m trying to collect a comprehensive list of every witnessed incident. Do you have anything you can add for me?”

 

As Bee kept talking, Sif felt mounting horror. Skulking? Fences? She was positive this woman was talking about her, but too polite to come out and say it. “Nope! Nothing! Bye!” she said and made a quick escape into her house.

 

Leaning against the front door, Sif calmed her racing heart. Had Loki complained about her? Jane? It didn’t matter. Starting today, Sif was absolutely not going to spy on her neighbors any more. She was _not_ going to become a focus of a neighborhood watch. She could not shame Aunt Win that way; the woman might rise from the grave and haunt her if she did.

 

*

 

Next morning, Sif awoke to Volstagg pounding on her door just before seven. “Sif!” he boomed, and she swore the whole neighborhood woke.

 

Opening the door, Sif stared at her friend with bleary eyes, trying to remember the protocol on murdering friends who showed up while the sun was still in its infancy.

 

“Good morning!” Volstagg said cheerfully, handing her a cup of coffee. “I’ve come with help to finish your yard.”

 

Sif finally noticed the ankle biters hiding behind Volstagg, looking around ages four and six. Both were looking at her with the type of wide-eyed innocence that said their papa had threatened them with a switching if they misbehaved, but boy were they itching to anyway.

 

“I thought we moved past child labor in this country,” Sif said, finally opening the door wide enough to allow entrance. The young’uns needed no further invitation and burst in, looking at everything with excited eyes.

 

“Touch anything and Mama will fix you for supper,” Volstagg said as they darted around the corner. Sif figured she should probably care more about children running wild in her house, but she hadn’t woken up enough yet to care. Closing the door behind him, Volstagg offered a bag of pastries. “The whole point of having kids is to make them do the work you don’t want to,” Volstagg said. “Gives ‘em life experience. Makes ‘em tough!”

 

Loki would agree; Sif idly wondered if Jane would. Thor certainly would, though he would be working side-by-side with the kid, teaching him or her everything he knew on the subject. And if he knew nothing, he’d make it up. Sif had a moment of fondness for her old friend, and for the first time in years, missed him more than she was upset about the way their relationship ended.

 

Half an hour later, breakfast pastries and coffee consumed, they were all working outside her house. The little ones--they had names, but she referred to the boy as Mini-Volstagg and the girl as Girl-Volstagg; both kids giggled every time she said it--were pulling up weeds, and despite being rambunctious little fellows, were very focused on their task. Sif held the trash bag for them, while Volstagg started mulching what had already been weeded.

 

He claimed he had an excess of mulch from his own yard, but Sif suspected he’d seen her sad lot and purchased it specifically for her. As much as she appreciated the mulch and yard work help, she especially appreciated that he cared enough to do it. She’d forgotten just how good a person Volstagg was.

 

The little ones occasionally got distracted by a worm or spider, but by and large kept themselves entertained, leaving the adults alone to talk. “Are you truly all healed since the accident?” Volstagg asked.

 

Sif gestured to all of herself. “Do you see any casts or bandages?’

 

“Some wounds aren’t visible,” he said, and Sif had to blink repeatedly to hold back the sudden moisture in her eyes.

 

“I mean, at least I didn’t die, so I’ve one-upped my parents that way,” Sif said, and Volstagg rolled his eyes. “The hardest part, honestly, has been being alone. I miss Aunt Win. I miss Thor. I miss you. I even miss Fandral. My doctor and my therapist, while great, don’t quite fill that hole.”

 

“Then why did you take so long to call?”

 

Sif sighed. “Cowardice.”

 

“Not from my Sif, surely!” Volstagg exclaimed. “You’re one of the bravest people I know!”

 

“Really?” Sif asked. “Because I would have labelled myself _stupidest_. I mean, we met because I dated you to avoid dating the boy I actually liked.”

 

“What’s dating?” Mini-Volstagg asked, holding up a worm.

 

“It’s when you put leashes on each other and treat each other like pets,” Volstagg said, and Sif gave him a look.

 

“No it’s not,” Girl-Volstagg said. “Mama says it’s what happens when you loooove somebody.”

 

“Ew,” Mini-Volstagg said, and licked his worm. Sif faux-gagged, which he thought was hilarious. “Do it again, Siffy, do it again!”

 

“Work!” Volstagg barked, affection coating his words. “Worm-eating is only for kids who finish their work!”

 

Mini-Volstagg’s eyes widened in glee. “I can eats a worm if I finish?” he shouted. _Definitely_ Volstagg’s son. At his father’s confirmation, he and his sister started working twice as fast as before, though the increase in productivity only lasted for a minute before they returned to their snail-like pace.

 

“Speaking of idiots you’d like to avoid,” Volstagg said, inclining his head towards Loki, who was just returning from his daily jog. Sif averted her eyes, and steadfastly did _not_ notice how good Loki looked post-workout. “Can’t believe he’s home; I thought he’d die in New York.”

 

“Jane must have mystical ways,” Sif said, and Volstagg nodded.

 

“That, or Thor threatened him. Hey, Loki!” he shouted, waving enthusiastically. Sif wondered how much trouble she’d be in if she lobbed a clod of dirt at his face.

 

Loki looked alarmed at seeing them together, and with a halfhearted wave, rushed inside his house.

 

“Speaking of cowards,” Volstagg said, and Sif laughed.

 

“Don’t be too harsh; we’ve been avoiding each other like the plague since we made first contact. Or first re-contact...first reunion? Since he moved back.”

 

Volstagg paused in his mulching and considered her a moment. “Why didn’t you two ever date?” he asked. “You were both crazy about each other; even Fandral could see it. It’s why he never bothered asking you out.”

 

That was highly embarrassing. Sif willed her red cheeks away, but they paid her no mind.

 

“She probably didn’t like his leash,” Mini-Volstagg said, and Sif gave a start. She forgot the children were listening.

 

“Or she didn’t love him,” Girl-Volstagg said. “Mommy says when he loves you and you don’t love him, to throw lemonade in his face and run away.”

 

“Sound advice,” Sif muttered as Volstagg laughed. She’d thrown a lot of things in Loki’s face as children. For several years she got along better with Thor and they spent a lot of time trying to distance themselves from his annoying younger brother (“ _By eight minutes!_ ” she could hear younger Loki growl). Loki, never one to be outdone, lobbed things right back. Frigga used to yell at them for hours about how often she had to bathe them. Sif smiled fondly; those were simpler times, when throwing mud at each other solved most of the world’s problems.

 

“I wanted to,” she finally said. “But then he started dating Sigyn, and that put an immediate end to that.” Two Odinson brothers choosing blondes over her was two too many. Thank goodness high school ended shortly thereafter and they all ran away to college.

 

Volstagg resumed mulching without a reply, which was fine with Sif. She spent too much time thinking about that pale-skinned nuisance as it was.

 

An hour in, the children started showing signs of boredom, so Volstagg delivered an impressive lecture about the merits of seeing a job through to completion, quelling any resistance. Determinedly picking weeds, Sif was impressed with how much these two loved their father that they offered no word of complaint. Adulthood was years away yet, but these two had a strong future in front of them.

 

When they broke for lunch, it occurred to Sif that Volstagg wasn’t at work on a Wednesday, so she asked about it. “I have Wednesdays and Sundays off,” he said.

 

“Sundays?” she asked, knowing he worked as a car mechanic at a seven-days-a-week shop. “Every Sunday?”

 

“For church.”

 

“Yeah, but it’s the South--everybody goes to church. How come you’re so special to get it off?

 

“‘Cause Mama told his boss-man he went to church with her, and spent the rest of the day raising us to be gold-fearing people, or he was gonna lose his best canick,” Girl-Volstagg said, and Sif laughed at the misspoken _God-fearing_.

 

“Mama’s scary,” mini-Volstagg said solemnly. “You mind her or else.”

 

“We’d love to see you there some Sunday,” Volstagg said. “Aunt Win’s pew still has space for one bum.”

 

“But I…” Sif started to say _can’t drive_ due to her myriad casts, but realized that was no longer an adequate excuse. Technically she could drive herself now. And technically she could have called an Uber before. She just hadn’t gone to church in so long the thought hadn’t even occurred to her, but that wasn’t the sort of thing one said in front of impressionable young children. The last thing she wanted was their mama getting scary on her for corrupting her babies.

 

“Just saying, but you could have had a lot of car accident casserole if we’d known,” Volstagg said.

 

True. If there was one thing church was good for, it was food from all the ladies for any calamity or life event imaginable.

 

“We’ll see,” she said, and changed the subject.

 

Once the garden was cleared of weeds, the kids helped her edge it with stones while Volstagg sprayed weed-killer. It was long past time for planting, though Sif did briefly wonder if the neighborhood would kick her out for filling her garden with fake plants. Considering nobody had mentioned her wild yard all summer, Sif figured she cold get away with it, if she could convince herself to go to the store and buy something.

 

After waving the Volstagg family off, Sif was still sitting on her porch when Jane got home from work. Mentally berating herself for not keeping better track of time, Sif plastered on a smile as the woman approached her, genuine friendly smile in place.

 

“Sorry to bother you,” Jane said, “but I’ve got to ask about this whole Frosty business. I mentioned it to Loki, and he went cold and wouldn’t speak to Darcy or myself for the rest of the evening. What’s the story there?”

 

This, at least, was a safe topic. For Sif, at any rate. Jane might not fare so well if she relayed it back to Loki. “I was three,” she said with a smile. “We all were, actually. And I mean, how was I supposed to know there was blue kool aid in the water gun?” Of course she knew. She put it in there. Dumped half of it all over the floor, too. No three year old possessed great control over their fine motor skills, though Volstagg’s kid came close. “I shot him with it. I was not expecting the blue to stain his pale skin, but I guess that’s what you get for being practically translucent. He was blue for a week. And I’m not the one who started the nickname Frost Giant; that was Thor. After a while, Frost Giant got to be too much to say, so we shortened it to Frosty, which resulted in Fandral calling him Wendy for a while. ‘Cause. You know.”

 

Jane snorted a laugh, which made Sif like her that much more, damn her. “I can guess how well that went over,” Jane said with a smile.

 

“Frigga officially banned us from using it when we were about eleven, which just meant we got covert about using it. Though by that point it only emerged when we were especially pissed off or Loki was being unusually annoying.”

 

It also meant they were never allowed to go to Wendy’s, for obvious reasons, which made it the perfect location for secret club meetings when they were mad at Loki.

 

That was all along time ago, though, and it didn’t do to dwell on the past.

 

“Will you join us for dinner?” Jane once again offered. She was certainly persistent.

 

“No, thank you,” Sif replied. “I appreciate the offer, as always, but you should probably stop. Your husband isn’t going to be overly appreciative if I accept.”

 

“My husband?” Jane said, slight confusion painting her tone. “Why would he care?”

 

“Because it’s his house, too, and he should get a say about whether or not the neighbor he’s been avoiding should be allowed in it?”

 

Jane gave her a strange look, and Sif wondered what Loki had said about her. “My husband…” Jane said, then tentatively added, “Loki…?”

 

“On that note, I’ve got a house to organize,” Sif said, and stood. “Have a good evening!” and she retreated inside, leaving a bemused Jane on her front porch.

 

*

 

The front door slammed shut and Jane’s low-heeled half-boots clicked on the hardwood floor above Loki’s head. She was later than usual. Loki finished reading his article in _The Harvard Law Review_ on the legality of sales tax for e-commerce before heading upstairs to find out why she was late.

 

Jane was standing at the counter, staring perplexed at the salad he’d made for dinner. It had plenty of ham, bacon, and eggs to satisfy her protein cravings, with enough lettuce and kale to satisfy Loki’s vegetable desire, but she was looking at it like a viper about to strike her firstborn child.

 

“Problem?” he asked, grabbing two plates from the cupboard and setting the table. “You can make something else if you don’t like it.”

 

She looked up at him then, face drawn in befuddlement.

 

“Be careful or your face will stay like that,” he said, parroting his mother.

 

Finally comprehending he was there, Jane gave a start then narrowed her eyes. What had her students done now? “I just had an interesting conversation with Sif,” she said, and Loki suddenly wished her students had been the ones to do something stupid.

 

“And…?” he asked cautiously, hoping she wasn’t about to say what he feared she was about to say.

 

“Why does she think you’re my husband?”

 

It had to happen eventually, being caught in this lie of his, though he’d personally hoped the falsehood would go on indefinitely.

 

He finished folding the napkins and placing them under forks in lieu of answering. He could plead insanity of Sif’s behalf, though Jane did have that annoying habit of seeing through his lies. Was a non-answer an option? But no, Jane strongly disliked when her students danced around issues rather than addressing them directly, and he was sure the dressing-down he would receive was not worth it.

 

The truth was always an option, though he did so dislike painting himself in a negative light.

 

“Loki,” Jane prompted.

 

He idly fingered the salt and pepper shakers as he responded. “I may have implied it,” he said.

 

The silence became oppressive, so Loki finally turned to look at his sister-in-law. Her eyes were narrowed and he could feel the displeasure from across the kitchen.

 

“ _May_ have?” she demanded.

 

He sighed. “If I happened to say the words and she happened to hear them exactly as I said them, then yes, I _may_ have informed her thusly.”

 

Jane closed her eyes and brought up a hand to pinch at her nose. “ _Why_ would you do such a thing?” she asked.

 

At least Jane was smart enough to assume it wasn’t because he was in love with her. Any other of Thor’s paramours over the years would have misinterpreted his actions, but Jane was no fool. “Must we discuss this?” he asked. “Dinner’s getting cold.”

 

Slamming the her hand on the counter, Jane said pointedly, “It’s supposed to be cold.”

 

“Then it’s getting warm. Best to eat it before the temperature turns too much.”

 

“Loki!” Jane shouted, and Loki flinched.

 

“What was I supposed to say?” he demanded, crossing his arms. “That despite her ridiculous haircut, my heart thumped at first sight of her, reminding me of what I missed out on all those years ago? And that now that I’m such an attractive prospect, being unemployed, living in my mother’s basement, and _fat_ , of course she should consider going out with me?”

 

“Yes,” Jane shot back. “Yes, actually, that is _exactly_ what you should have said. Then you two wouldn’t be dancing around each other, pretending the other doesn’t exist. Did you know she’s avoiding you? And if I had to hypothesize why, I’d say it’s because she dislikes lusting after another woman’s man. Which she isn’t, but she doesn’t know that, because _you_ had to lie and say we were married!”

 

“It seemed like a good idea at the time,” he said churlishly, and Jane glared at him. “What did she say when you set her straight?” he asked, which was what he really wanted to know. How much worse was their avoidance going to become?

 

Jane, however, was shaking her head and holding her hands up as if to block him. “Oh no, I’m not setting anything straight,” she said, and for a brief moment Loki felt a surge of hope that he could continue his ridiculous charade. “This is your disaster, so you get to be the one to do the confessing.” There went that hope. Did she honestly expect him to search out Sif and admit his wrongdoing? He’d had ample opportunity to confront her on their many run-ins around the neighborhood, and his refusal to do so then should be indicative of his desire to not do it now.

 

Not that Jane knew about those interactions, as he fastidiously refused to speak of them.

 

He briefly considered blackmailing Jane into backing off by threatening to move out and leave her alone, but that thought was quickly dismissed as it would leave him unemployed _and_ homeless, a shameful combination he was not sure he could survive.

 

“Fine,” he said, purposefully not committing to a timeline. “Now may we eat? Baby must be starving.”

 

It took some cajoling, but Jane finally did sit at the table, though she refused to be engaged in conversation. Fair enough. He’d be pissed if the situations were reversed, so he allowed her her silence.

 

Lying in bed that night, Loki schemed how best to avoid Sif forever, for if he never had to face her, she would never learn the truth, thereby continuing to only passively hate him instead of actively hating him. With Jane’s dogged determination that he right this wrong, he did not have to worry about her letting the cat out of the bag.

 

He could navigate these waters. All he had to do was keep Jane so occupied she neither had time to visit Sif nor ask after whether or not he’d cleared the air.

 

Easy as pie.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Since you are obviously obsessed with my story and keeping close tabs on the timeline, you noticed Sif and boys watched football on a Tuesday night. This is a thing: [Football on Tuesdays](https://www.sbnation.com/college-football/2016/10/5/13158094/mac-sun-belt-tuesday-wednesday-night-espn-television-scheduling) . And since I’m super way into research, I just used the first school I saw that was conveniently located in Georgia. :D


	5. Could Have Loved You All My Life

Jane was proving irritatingly determined Loki see his apology through.

 

At breakfast, 6:30 in the morning: “Have you spoken to her yet?”

 

“When? While she was sleeping?”

 

As she left for work, 7:30 am: “Did you talk to her?”

 

“Jane. She’s still asleep.”

 

(The reliability of his answers was questionable, but Jane didn’t have time to check their accuracy, thank goodness.)

 

Upon returning home, 5:00: “What did Sif say?”

 

“I haven’t seen her all day.”

 

“You could walk over there and knock on her door!”

 

Loki was scandalized. “I cannot walk up to someone’s door uninvited! That is the picture of indecency!”

 

“So is letting someone think their old friend is married to his sister-in-law!”

 

And again at dinner, before bed, and with a late-night text.

 

Rinse and repeat.

 

Three days into this madness, Loki seriously debated the merits of moving out. He was an extremely competent lawyer; if he so chose, he could easily acquire a position with a local law firm, giving him the requisite income to pay rent.

 

But then he’d have to leave Jane behind, and he did promise Thor to watch out for her.

 

And he’d have to leave Sif behind, and even though he was purposefully avoiding her, he liked knowing she was close.

 

Growling at his idiocy, Loki took an extra long jog, hoping his panting breaths and sweat-soaked clothes would be enough to distract him. Their neighborhood wasn’t very big, so he ran around it thrice before venturing out. It hadn’t changed much since childhood: the Einherjars still had KEEP OUT signs stapled to their chain-link fence, with threats of violence against any trespassers; the Laufeys still had A/C units sticking out of every window; old Mr. Kurse, now even older, still had his house painted weird colors and shouted at Loki to get off his lawn, even though he was nowhere near it. Loki gave the old man a one-fingered salute and kept on running.

 

There were a few new families. The abandoned house two blocks over had been taken over by a pair of men around Loki’s age. They were standing on their front porch all three times Loki ran past, and from their angry stances, he couldn’t tell if they were disagreeing roommates or a gay couple mid-fight. Either way, it didn’t look like their union would last long.

 

Mrs. Eir finally kicked the bucket a year or so back, and her house had been taken over by a young family with too many kids. Loki looked on distastefully as a horde of children formed a dogpile. They had better stay in their corner of the neighborhood; impending unclehood or not, he was not above kicking a small child if it invaded his property.

 

Then there was the blonde couple who moved in across the street. He hadn’t met them yet, but they looked the picture of saccharine southern hospitality. Loki hated them on sight. They appeared perfectly happy together, which meant there was something nefarious going on at home to paste that smile all over the wife’s face. If she ever tried to bring him cookies, he’d thank her, then flush them. No need to be willingly poisoned.

 

Loki couldn’t remember if he’d always hated people, or if this was a recent development courtesy of his career, but either way, he liked it best when he was left alone.

 

Sif was sitting on her front porch when Loki walked past in the cool down phase of his jog. She stood up and made to go inside, then changed her mind and marched for him. Alarmed, Loki estimated the distance to his front porch, but Sif was angled well enough that she could intercept him even if he made a break for it. Damn.

 

He nodded coolly at her approach; her face was a picture of disappointment and resentment, and Loki momentarily feared Jane had let the cat out of the bag after all.

 

“Lady Sif,” he said, knowing she hated it when he so addressed her, “how are you on this illustrious day?”

 

“You know Jane is pregnant, right?” she demanded.

 

“Rather hard to miss, what with the hourly bathroom visits,” he said.

 

“Is everything a joke to you?” she demanded, planting her hands on her hips. Loki couldn’t help but admire her fine form. In the years since high school, she had only improved. “She’s pregnant and working to support the pair of you, while you sit at home all day on your lazy ass and let her. Have you no dignity? Respect?”

 

Ah yes, the traditional values of a man working while the woman stayed at home and made babies was still alive and well in the South. A small smile tugged at Loki’s lips; he’d been in New York so long, he’d almost forgotten. Knowing where Sif was going with this, he decided to enjoy her concern.

 

“I have plenty of both,” he said. “I respect Jane’s ability to grow a small human, and I let her know so with all the dignity I can muster.”

 

Sif’s eyes narrowed, and for a moment Loki thought she meant to slap him. His grin widened. “You have not turned out the way I expected,” she said, her tone a touch haughty. “Your mother must be so proud of the son she’s produced.”

 

The smile dropped, replaced by a scowl. That was going too far. “She is, actually,” he said coldly. “Perhaps you ought to refrain from passing judgment without knowing all the circumstances. As far as I can tell, you also sit at home all day on your own lazy ass. So consider that before you start insinuating negativity about my lackluster labor.”

 

The tightening of her eyes told Loki he’d scored a point, which finally answered what she did all day. This homebound hermit was not the Sif he knew; unfortunately, having just insulted her, he didn’t think it wise to smoothly transition the conversation into a friendly one about her life’s course.

 

Not to mention she started it.

 

“I’m concerned you’re not being a provider. This kid needs a father who cares, not a repeat of Odin.”

 

That stung. He couldn’t even claim paternity, but did not appreciate the insinuation that he wasn’t better than his own mostly absent father. “You go too far,” he snapped. “Bug off.”

 

“And you aren’t going far enough. Get a job,” she snapped back.

 

“It’s none of your concern.”

 

“You’re right, it isn’t. But we were once friends, and I--” she cut off abruptly, seemingly chewed her words, and changed what she was going to say. “I want better for you than this.”

 

She didn’t wait for a reply, stalking back into her house, leaving Loki standing there staring after her retreating form.

 

He finally came to himself after her door shut and he yelled, “I want better than this, too!” and shook his fist menacingly. Feeling like a complete fool, he made for his own house, hoping none of the neighbors witnessed his ridiculous outburst.

 

He was never telling Sif the truth, and Jane would just have to deal with it.

 

*

 

Sif paced back and forth between her living room and her kitchen. On one loop, anger and irritation warred for her attention as she cursed Loki, then on the next she fretted she’d overstepped her bounds, before returning to a state of ire.

 

It wasn’t that Jane shouldn’t provide for her baby, it was that Loki should _also_ be doing something, and by all accounts he was doing a fat lot of nothing. And since Sif was not doing a very good job of getting over him, the least she could do was try and channel her feelings into something productive by attempting to turn him into a human being worthy of the name _father_.

 

(“That is a terrible idea,” Coulson told her at therapy. “It might be good for him, assuming he listens to you, but it is just about the worst thing you could do for yourself.”

 

“Nobody asked for your opinion,” she retorted.

 

“That is literally what you are paying me for.”

 

She thought she was paying him to listen, but whatever.)

 

What could she do to get Loki back on the path to employment? He was a lawyer, and while their town was small, it wasn’t _that_ small. Surely there were lawyering jobs around. And even if there weren’t, there were plenty of nearby towns. She could circle opportunities in the local paper and leave it in his mailbox or on his doorstep, with attached sticky note directing the classifieds to Loki.

 

Did this town even have a paper? Maybe she should check out that LinkedIn website. Did that work the same? Could she just, like, make an account and digitally circle local positions?

 

This felt suspiciously wife-like. Maybe Coulson was right and this was a horrible idea.

 

Stopping at her kitchen counter, Sif plopped her arms down and dropped her head atop them. What she needed was a mother’s advice. Aunt Win surely would have known what to do (the back of her mind whispered, “With each breath, her chest heaved like a bulimic after Thanksgiving dinner(1),” a line from one of Aunt Win’s bestsellers, and Sif had to rethink her opinion of her aunt), or her own mother, or...or….

 

Or Frigga.

 

Loki’s mom had been a second mother to Sif, always ready with advice and a warm hug, plus a tissue or three to mop up any tears. After Thor dumped her, Sif had been afraid to approach his mother, unsure what kind of reception she’d get, but Frigga had sought her out, offering solace for her broken heart, letting Sif slander Thor until she felt better, never mind Sif was talking about Frigga’s own son.

 

It had been Frigga’s warm presence that finally convinced Sif it was okay to renew her friendship with Loki, knowing she was still welcome in the house despite the drama with Thor. Frigga had also been an effective buffer, taking no one’s side but shielding everyone from everyone they didn’t want to be interacting with. It was now over a decade later, but Sif was sure Frigga would know what Sif should do about the Loki situation.

 

It took twenty minutes of searching for Sif to find Aunt Win’s contacts glued to the inside of a cupboard, and then another thirty-five minutes to convince herself it really was okay to call.

 

Naturally, Frigga didn’t pick up.

 

Determined not to give up, Sif called every half hour for the next two days before she finally got through. “Your harassment is not appreciated,” Frigga’s usually warm voice coldly welcomed her. “Cease immediately or I will involve the police.”

 

“Oh,” Sif said, feeling very small. “I didn’t...I forgot you were a senator’s wife. I should have texted you first or something.”

 

“Who is this?” Frigga asked suspiciously.

 

“Sif Schelder? I grew up next door…”

 

“Sif!” Frigga exclaimed, and the ice melted, replaced with the light and warmth Sif was accustomed to. “Darling, of course you can call me! I simply didn’t have you in my contacts, and given who my husband is, I receive a lot of bizarre phone calls.” Realizing how creepy it looked to call every thirty minutes like clockwork, Sif cringed, grateful she wasn’t face-to-face with the Odinson matriarch. “What can I help you with, dear?”

 

“Um,” Sif said, wishing she had half the deportment of Frigga, “Give me a moment. I’m slowly sinking into the ground in humiliation.”

 

Frigga trilled a laugh, and Sif wondered what good fortune had allowed her to fall in with this family. “As long as you aren’t trying to sell me something, dear, there’s no need to be humiliated. I take it there was a rather pressing reason for your call?”

 

Taking a deep breath, Sif went for it. “I have a problem. It’s about Loki.”

 

“Have you two reconnected?” Frigga asked, and Sif could hear the delight. For a brief moment, she let herself feel sorrow at losing any opportunity to have this woman as a mother-in-law, but before she could dwell on it, she tucked the feelings back in the recesses of her mind. She couldn’t change the here and now, and it wouldn’t do to dwell.

 

Now if only she could convince herself to take her own advice.

 

“Everything is awful,” she said. “I was pathetically in love with your son in high school, and I was gearing up to ask him out when he started dating Sigyn instead and I was crushed. I thought ten years would be enough time and distance, but apparently not, because the second he moved in next door all my feelings came rushing forward and now I can’t get him off my mind.”

 

“Next door?” Frigga asked. “Did you move back to Winifred’s home?”

 

Frigga was the only person on the planet who could get away with calling Aunt Win that, and it brought tears streaming down Sif’s face. “I did. After the accident I needed to come home, and when Loki and his wife moved in, it just made everything worse. I can’t stop thinking about him, and I know Jane is basically a perfect person, so you must love her as a daughter-in-law, but I’m bitter and jealous because I don’t get a second chance. Frigga, I’m seeing a therapist, for goodness’ sake! Me! And it’s helping but it’s also not and what do I do?”

 

There was silence on the other end as Sif let her tears take over. She did her best to banish them, sniffling through the mess she was making of her face, grateful Frigga was only hearing her breakdown, not also witnessing it.

 

“Loki and his...wife?” Frigga asked delicately. “Who told you they were married?”

 

“Loki,” Sif said, wincing at how mournful her voice sounded.

 

“Sif, darling, Loki’s not--wait, did you say accident? What accident?”

 

Wiping at her eyes, Sif replied, “I was in a car accident several months back, and basically crushed my right side.” She detailed her multiple fractures, bruises, and lacerations, as well as the hospital stay, follow-up visits, and physical therapy. Frigga quietly listened, making all the appropriate sounds of sympathy and outrage.

 

“And now I’m at home, an unemployed loser, although I’m finally cast-free, but still pathetic because I can’t get over my married high school crush.” There was an uncomfortable silence on the other end, and, not knowing the cause, Sif rushed to fill it. “I just, I needed a mom to talk to, and since Aunt Win’s gone and all, I thought maybe it would be okay if I called you.” A fresh set of tears moistened her eyes. “I hope that’s okay.”

 

“Always,” Frigga said firmly. “Sif Schelder, you may call me any time, day or night, whether you are in love with one of my sons or at odds with both of them. You are my third child, my only daughter, and I will always be here if you need me.”

 

And Sif was blubbering again.

 

After some minutes, Sif let out a quiet, “Thank you,” and she swore Frigga reached out to hug her.

 

“Now, dear, let me take care of your problem, because I know just the solution.”

 

Frigga ended the conversation after that, and although Sif didn’t understand how Frigga was going to solve anything, she felt immensely better. Mothers were miracle workers; she should have called long ago.

 

*

 

Loki was sitting at the dining room table working on a jigsaw puzzle with Jane when he got the call. “Hello, Mother,” he said. “What can I do you for?”

 

“Loki Odinson,” Frigga said, and the chill in her voice caused Loki to sit up straight.

 

“Yes, Mama?” he said.

 

Jane looked up from her section of blue sky at the sound of his southern drawl coming out. He had mostly eradicated it when he went to Stanford, but when Frigga Odinson called to take him to task, he couldn’t help but let his roots come out. “Explain to me why dear Sif Schelder is under the impression you’re married to your brother’s wife.”

 

Loki winced. “Just gonna hazard a guess here, Mama, say it’s probably because I told her so?” The icy silence turned Loki’s stomach, and he hung his head. “I am ashamed,” he said.

 

“Yes, you are,” Frigga said.

 

“I will make reparations and perform penitence,” he said.

 

“Yes, you will.”

 

“And I will give her an apology pie.”

 

“No, my son; you will _make_ her apology pie, with your own two hands.”

 

“Yes, Mama.”

 

“And you will make two of them.”

 

“ _Two_?” he yelped. “What for?”

 

“One for that awful lie you told her, and one for not bringing by casserole after her accident.”

 

“Accident? What accident?”

 

“The car accident she was in that resulted in her moving home. She said she broke just about everything she could break, and spent way too long convalescing on the couch. She still does, for that matter. And you, heartless neighbor that you are, couldn’t be bothered to visit her long enough to ascertain why she was at home, thereby neglecting her in her hour of need, when instead you could have been of great service to her. Shame on you.”

 

Car accident? Sif? She’d been raised by her aunt because both parents died in a car accident. The irony must have stung deeply. And, like Frigga said, he was too wrapped up in his own personal drama to even know she was going through an ordeal and could use a hand.

 

He should have known, though. Why else would someone as magnificent as Sif be living at home, with no discernible job? She was always there, and except for running into him everywhere he went jogging, she never seemed to leave her house. Jane said she was avoiding him; even Malekith had said she was a hermit. It seemed so blaringly obvious in hindsight that something was amiss that Loki felt like an idiot twice over.

 

“Yes, Mama,” he said meekly.

 

“Absolutely no help from Jane. You caused this mess, you apologize for it. My Apology Pie recipes should still be above the fridge in the blue gingham cookbook. And before you ask, I digitized my recipes years ago, so yes, it really is where I say it is. Now get baking.”

 

“Yes, Mama,” he said, and they hung up. Jane was smirking at him as she tapped her puzzle piece against her chin. “You’re on your own,” he said, gesturing to the puzzle. “I’ve got pie to make.”

 

“I love your mother,” Jane said happily.

 

Loki sighed and set to work.

 

*

 

The doorbell rang. Sif looked up from the journal she was attempting to write (she’d made it as far as _dear diary_ , stuck there for nearly 40 minutes) and worried Bee Johnson, Neighborhood Watch Member and Perfect Wife™, was standing on the other side.

 

When she took too long to answer, the doorbell rang again and again. Whoever was on the other side was awfully insistent. Closing her journal with a sigh, Sif stood and opened the door.

 

There, standing on her porch in the evening light, was Loki Odinson, pie in his right hand, left hand tucked behind his back.

 

“Sif,” he said, nodding at her stunned expression. “I bring you Apology Pie. This one’s pumpkin.”

 

Apology Pie was a local tradition, started by the town’s founders, Darryl Jacobson and Donald Blake. Their plots of land were adjacent to each other without a clear border, causing a plethora of arguments over the years that eventually developed into a feud. In their old age, Darryl, considered the more level-headed of the two, didn’t want to die without making peace. Legend had it he made a series of pies, each more delicious than the one before it--apple, pecan, pumpkin, peach, and huckleberry--and sent them to his neighbor.

The huckleberry was the most complicated to make as huckleberries were difficult to find in Georgia, growing only in the higher climes. Darryl went out of his way to procure the sweet fruit, and Donald Blake was so touched by the gesture, he ended the feud on the spot.

 

Locals still gave each other Apology Pies when occasion called for it, and the type of pie was indicative of how great the sin was they were apologizing for.

 

Pumpkin pie was middle of the road. Sif looked at Loki with wide eyes.

 

“Mother called,” he said by way of explanation, “and told me about your car wreck. I am sincerely sorry to hear about it, and even more sorry I didn’t know and haven’t been very neighborly.”

 

If Sif cried, she was going to kill herself. Clenching her teeth and willing her eyes to remain dry, she reached out to accept the proffered pie. “Thank you,” she said quietly. “It’s most kind of you.” She inhaled deeply, pretending she wasn’t touched.

 

“Don’t thank me yet,” Loki said wryly, producing a second pie. Huckleberry.

 

“Why is there a second pie?” Sif asked cautiously, fear mounting at what she suspected it was for. Surely Frigga hadn’t confided in her son that Sif was still in love with him…surely not…

 

The way Loki was looking at her, though, didn’t bode well.

 

“Mother took me to task for something else,” he said, “a most egregious lie I’ve happily perpetuated. Both she and Jane are extremely displeased with me at the moment.”

 

Land’s sake, it was what she thought it was for. Her breath caught in her throat and she couldn’t quite breathe.

 

“Sif Schelder,” Loki said formally and her heart bottomed out, “I even more sincerely apologize for lying to you about Jane. She’s not my wife; she’s married to Thor.”

 

It took a moment for his words to penetrate the fog surrounding her brain, but once they did, Sif focused in on Loki’s eyes with laser-sharp focus.

 

“Excuse me?” she demanded.

 

Loki sighed. “I didn’t want to admit to you the reality of my situation, so instead I lied and went out of my way to perpetuate it. I should probably feel more sorry, but after my initial fib, my moves were calculated and intentional. So here. Have a second apology pie.”

 

Mindlessly she accepted it, trying to wrap her mind around Loki’s confession.

 

Jane…

 

She wasn’t…

 

Jane was not Loki’s wife.

 

The words pierced her heart with blazing clarity, and her anger flared.

 

Loki, having received no response, stiffly nodded at her and started retreating towards his side of the fence. Setting down the perfectly good pumpkin pie, Sif grasped the huckleberry firmly in both hands.

 

“Loki Odinson!” she shouted, chasing after him. He turned to face her, eyes widening at her expression. Hauling back, Sif lobbed the Apology Pie at his face. It landed with a satisfying _splunk_. “You no good, dirty rotten, lying sack of horse excrement! Malekith has more honor than you!” The pie slid down his face, clattering to the sidewalk. A whole huckleberry clung stubbornly to Loki’s left eye. His entire face was streaked blue and purple, making him look satisfyingly like the frost giant she and Thor once called him.

 

“Our timing’s never been good,” she yelled, blood pumping furiously, “but this is the lowest of the low, and the stupidest of the stupid! And you and I have always been stupid where it concerns each other. Married? You lied about being _married_? What under the sun, moon, and stars could you possibly hope to accomplish over that? If you didn’t want me to look at you twice, there were more effective ways to do it. If you never wanted to see me again, all you had to do was say so. But to _lie_ to me about someone who has only ever made friendly overtures, all of which I’ve spurned in order to continue avoiding you? I hope chiggers eat you in your sleep!”

 

Returning to her porch in a blaze of fury, Sif grabbed her pumpkin pie, whirling around to throw one more insult Loki’s way. “I hope your mother’s proud of you!” she snapped, entering the house and slamming the front door with enough force to rattle the frame.

 

Sinking to her feet, Sif burst into tears.

 

_I hate him_ , she thought savagely.

 

*

 

Entering the house, Loki took great care not to drip huckleberries on his mother’s Turkish rug. Jane, sitting at the kitchen table grading something, looked up as he entered. Taking in his appearance, she smiled widely and said, “I take it that went about as well as expected.”

 

“Shut up,” he said sourly, heading for the shower.

  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (1) I don't know where this quote originally came from, but I found it [here](https://www.tickld.com/wow/1840040/20-worst-romance-novel-quotes-eve/).


	6. But How You Fooled Me, I'm Still Amazed

_“Alas my child, why did I rear you, doomed_

_the day I bore you? Ah, could you only be_

_serene upon this beachhead through the siege,_

_your life runs out so soon._

_Oh, early death! Oh broken heart! No destiny_

_so cruel! And I bore you to this evil!”_

 

Loki snorted. Doomed the day he was born, indeed. Achilles, destined to die young, had never felt so relatable. Though Loki was not destined to die young, he certainly felt doomed when it came to the girl next door. _Oh broken heart! No destiny so cruel!_

 

Of course, he’d made his own bed, so now he had to lie in it. He supposed he probably deserved the ire of all the women in his life, but that didn’t make it comfortable to endure.

 

It took three washes to get the huckleberry stain out of his skin, but no amount of scrubbing would remove the expression on Sif’s face, seared into his memory as it was. They probably ought to have a sit-down and hash things out, but he was confident she didn’t want to see him right now. Jane was still miffed, and he hadn’t bothered talking to his mother since she took him to task.

 

He hadn’t even dared go jogging for fear of running into Sif. Instead, he’d retreated to his room and buried himself in the ancient Greek literature of _The Iliad_ \--the Robert Fitzgerald translation, of course; his life may be a muddle, but he had his standards.

 

Homer had incredible insults. Perhaps he ought to compile a list and give it to Sif, for use when next she saw him?

 

_Sack of wine, you with your cur’s eyes and your antelope heart!_

_You thick-skinned, shameless, greedy fool!_  

_Rabbit hearts of Argos, are you not dead with shame?_

_Death twice over to this [Odinson]! Let him be broken at the [women’s] hands!_

_Crookedness and duplicity, I see now!_

 

She ought to find it satisfying.

 

All the same, he couldn’t bring himself to regret the lie. It made him a horrible person, he objectively knew, but if no one ever caught him in it, he could have lived out the remainder of his life quite happily. Now, with three women mad at him and a self-imposed bedroom exile, he was finding he disliked making reparations.

 

The front door opened and shut, and loud footsteps tromped across the floor. Loki frowned; it was not long past noon, and Jane shouldn’t be home from school yet. Worry that something happened to the baby spurred him out of bed and to the stairs, where he met a most unexpected sight: Sif, glorious in the fury which cloaked her, crooking her finger. Loki, incapable of defying her, moved towards her. “You, with me, now,” she commanded, and led him out of the house and to his car.

 

Gesturing stiffly at the front seat, Loki wordlessly slid in as she occupied the passenger seat. “Drive.”

 

“Where to, mighty navigator?” he asked.

 

“Left,” she barked, and he obeyed. “Left. Right. Straight. Park.”

 

Her orders had brought them to the old taxidermist shop. Feeling slightly perplexed, Loki took one look at the rage on her face and wisely opted to keep his mouth shut. Locking the car behind them, Loki followed her into the building. Inside it looked like a doctor’s waiting office, though the receptionist was not smiling nor was he in scrubs. The young man, unprofessional of dress and with military hair, looked like he belonged in the woods or possibly a tavern brawl.

 

“Who’s this, then?” the man said, easy smile sliding into place. “Bring along an extra, yeah?”

 

“He’s coming with me,” Sif said, and the man laughed.

 

“Couples therapy, eh?” he said. “Coulson’s going to love this.”

 

The name _Coulson_ sounded vaguely familiar, but it was lost in Loki’s alarm over _couple’s therapy_. The man was joking, right?

 

As Sif led him into an office that sported a variety of seating options, including a traditional therapy daybed, he was forced to admit the man was not.

 

Behind a beautiful mahogany desk sat a man in the declining years of his prime. On his nose sat black glasses, the plastic kind with a thick frame popular in recent years. They were a surprisingly good match for the man’s polite smile and receding hairline.

 

“Sif,” the man said, standing to greet her. “I see you brought a friend.”

 

Sif grabbed Loki’s shoulder and pushed, sending him careening into the armchair. Righting himself with as much dignity as he could muster, he twitched his nose in her direction. That was completely uncalled for.

 

“He has serious issues,” Sif told the man, “and you need to fix him. If you thought I was a mess, at least I didn’t do anything so deplorable as lie about being married.”

 

The man, presumably a shrink, made a noise of interest which only made Loki want to run for the hills. He would have, too, if he thought he could make it past Sif without dislocating one or both of his shoulders.

 

“I called his mother in a desperate moment of loneliness because she’s the closest thing to a mother I’ve got left. He gave me apology pie-- _two_ of them!--and some hogwash explanation that he lied about Jane being his wife. Apparently she’s _Thor’s_ wife, which, now that I’ve said it out loud, explains so many things, and my gosh I was guarding my tongue about the wrong stories. Coulson!” And here Sif stamped, actually _stamped,_ her foot, her face a picture of anguish. The alarm returned, this time for Sif’s wellbeing.

 

The man behind the desk, presumably Coulson, took off his glasses and blinked several times at Sif. “Well. This is an interesting development.”

 

“Do something!” Sif cried.

 

“Such as bash his head in?” Coulson asked, and the hopeful glance Sif gave him did not bode well for Loki’s wellbeing.

 

Coulson lifted his lips slightly in a smile, which relaxed Sif. Interesting.

 

“Make him talk,” she said. “I’ll be outside.”

 

With a raised brow, Coulson said, “You’re giving your slot to him?”

 

“He needs it,” she said, then turned to Loki. He felt the need to shield himself, though there was nothing at hand with which to do so. “You,” she said heatedly, jabbing her finger at him, “don’t be an ass.”

 

“But I thought you wanted me to stop lying about myself,” he said sweetly.

 

“I am not above coating you in a second pie. _Behave_ ,” she hissed, and was gone.

 

In her absence, Loki was acutely aware that Coulson was observing him. Turning to face the man, Loki lounged in the chair as if it were his throne. He raised a cool brow, but otherwise said nothing.

 

“Loki Odinson,” Coulson said at length. “We meet at last.”

 

Obviously, Sif was seeing a therapist. Based on that last comment, she spoke about Loki enough that Coulson wasn’t too surprised to see him present. Perhaps this lie of his was worse than he had anticipated.

 

Loki held out silence for another two minutes, but he had questions he wanted answered. He was sitting here; he might as well interrogate the man. “I see you’re a therapist.”

 

“So they say.”

 

“And Sif sees you regularly.”

 

“You’d have to ask her.”

 

“And she talks about me?”

 

“Do you want her to?” Loki, not expecting that reply, was caught off guard and didn’t have a ready response. “Because the way I see it,” Coulson continued, “you’ve been here nearly ten minutes now. You haven’t said much, but every word uttered has been related to Sif. It seems to me you want to talk about her.”

 

This, Loki could handle. “Of course I’m talking about her. She’s the one who dragged me here--against my will, I might add.”

 

“So you resisted her efforts?”

 

Well, no, but one did not resist a woman with a history of throwing pie in your face.

 

“Interesting,” Coulson broke the silence and jotted something down on his notebook. Irritation tightened Loki’s lips; for the first time, he understood how his clients felt as he made vague comments and took notes.

 

Making sure to stare directly at the shrink, Loki deliberately and obviously crossed his arms. Coulson made note of it, but said nothing, and the silence stretched.

 

Ever since he was a small child, Loki had not been a fan of silence when there were other people around. It gave too much time for them to think and plot, specialties of Loki’s. He had won more than one fight with Thor, who was a deep but slow thinker, by not giving his brother time to process what was going on. He was unsure of Coulson’s tactics or end game, but Loki could distract the man by filling the silence with chatter.

 

He thought Loki wanted to talk of Sif? Then he would play to the man’s expectations and speak of her. Clearly her therapist, the man would surely be interested in a tale from her childhood, perhaps glean some interesting tidbit to assist in fixing his other client. These shrinky types ate that garbage up, and Loki was happy to provide it.

 

“Did you know Sif is smart?” Loki said, maintaining direct eye contact. “She thinks she isn’t because book learning isn’t her field of interest, but she’s quite intelligent in her chosen field. I know as much about track and field, and by extension the Olympics, as I do because she spoke of little else.

 

“We studied together Junior Year in preparation for the SAT. She always found her performance lackluster, in part because I always outshone her, but that’s due to the fact that I excelled in the subjects we were required to study. Her perseverance was impressive; despite feeling particularly stupid, she never asked to end early or complained about the amount of time required. Her mind was sharp; I rarely had to explain anything twice.

 

“Though she would rather be out hitting something, she’s the one who pushed us to have more study sessions. She claims she only did as well as she did on her tests because of me, but she gives herself too little credit. She performed competently because she knew that she worked hard.”

 

Those afternoons spent studying together were Loki’s favorite memories of high school. They were just about the only times he and Sif hadn’t been at odds with each other for one perceived slight or another, content to be alone and doing the one thing Loki liked doing. Thor rarely bothered them, focused as he was on perfecting his passing game.

 

An unexpected pang of longing struck. He missed those quiet afternoons, just the two of them. He missed Sif. Ten years was a long time to pretend he was over someone he never actually dated, and sitting here recounting fond memories reminded Loki of everything he never had, and everything he’d probably just lost again due to his ridiculous stunt.

 

This was getting too sentimental. He needed a change of subject.

 

“I assume Sif told you her history with my brother.” Coulson said nothing; it was unnerving. Damn therapists. “Our relationship was somewhat strained at the time, but when Thor dumped her for that irritating Amora, Sif and I reconnected and bonded over voodoo dolls.” Coulson’s brows raised in interest at this comment. Smiling slightly, Loki explained. “Amora was so stereotypically blonde it was easy to find a doll to represent her. Sif and I would spend hours sticking pins in the doll and texting Thor to ask if his girlfriend’s arm or leg or chest hurt.”

 

It took weeks for the couple to figure out what was going on, and the screaming match they’d all gotten into upon its discovery had been magnificent. Thor and Amora screamed in anger, while Loki and Sif yelled in delight, pleased with the havoc they were wreaking.

 

Thor and Amora broke up not too long after that. Apparently her boyfriend having a “neurotic little wizarding freak” for a brother was too much to handle.

 

Loki and Sif had eaten celebratory sushi that night. A tiny smile turned up the corners of his mouth; he’d almost forgotten about that.

 

“How did you get from that to telling her you’re married?” Coulson asked.

 

Loki twitched his lips. “Getting a bit personal, aren’t we?”

 

“It’s why she dragged you in here.”

 

“I fail to see how that’s any of your concern.”

 

Coulson studied Loki a moment, resting his chin atop steepled fingers. Loki stared right back, affecting disinterest.

 

Abruptly Coulson stood. “One moment,” he said, and left the room.

 

This entire exercise was stupid. Loki wasn’t a therapy person. Did he look like the sort of individual who wanted to talk about his feelings? Thor had told him more than once that he had the emotional capacity of a teaspoon, and that was being generous. The last thing he was interested in was discussing his _feelings_ with some stranger.

 

And it wasn’t going to solve any latent issues with Sif--or manifested issues, either. Words were cheap.

 

Still, he was not above admitting he was the tiniest bit afraid of Sif, and while he might avoid her in the future to prevent another therapy mishap, he certainly wasn’t going to induce her wrath here and now. They still had to drive home together.

 

The door to Coulson’s office opened and Coulson re-entered, Sif in tow. Oh, this just got so much worse.

 

“I think you two need to talk,” Coulson said.

 

“Have you talked to him about his daddy issues?” Sif said defensively. “Or his brother issues? Or his arrogance issues? He legitimately believes he’s better than everyone else.”

 

“Because I am,” Loki said, mildly affronted that she still hadn’t figured this out.

 

Sif jabbed a finger in his direction. “See?” she half said, half shouted.

 

“Sit,” Coulson ordered, sounding so much like a father Loki almost obeyed the command, nevermind that he was already sitting.

 

With a huff, Sif seated herself delicately on the edge of the daybed and crossed her arms, lower lip sticking out petulantly. Loki averted his eyes, because she did not look kissable, so it would be a waste of a thought to mention it.

 

“Well,” Coulson said, gesturing between the two of them. “Talk.”

 

“No,” Loki said, only to be contrary.

 

“Must we?” Sif said, sounding pained at the thought.

 

Coulson sent his eyes heavenward as if pleading to a deity. Loki found it mildly amusing, mouth curling into an amused smirk. “Sif, have you told Loki how you feel?”

 

“She cursed me with chiggers,” Loki said helpfully.

 

“It’s true. I did.”

 

“Okay….” Coulson looked to be out of his depth, and Loki wondered where this man got his degree. Had Sif checked his credentials? She could be spilling her soul to a serial killer, for all she knew. “Sif,” Coulson started again, “you are upset.”

 

“Because Loki lied to me.”

 

“Yes, but why are you upset?”

 

“Because he lied to me!”

 

“But why are you upset that _Loki_ lied to you?”

 

Loki looked on with interest--finally, a question he wanted the answer to--but Sif had snapped her mouth shut and was glaring at Coulson. “ _No_ ,” she said savagely. “You aren’t supposed to jump to the heart of the matter. We’re supposed to get there slowly and only after he’s admitted he’s an idiot twelve times over!”

 

Coulson rubbed his temples, though he looked like he was used to this kind of behavior. Loki wondered who he’d have to subpoena to get the notes from Sif’s sessions; he would pay great money to witness these two talking to each other.

 

“But starting at the heart of the matter and working outwards is more efficient,” Coulson said.

 

“But I am _not_ admitting to that with him sitting right there smugly smirking and lounging about like he owns the place,” Sif said heatedly. “And anyway, I’m so angry it’s currently not true!”

 

There was a subtext Loki was missing, and he dearly wanted in on the secret as this was the most entertainment he’d had since returning home.

 

With another eyeroll, Coulson turned to face Loki. Were therapists allowed to make that expression when talking to their clients? “Loki. Tell Sif why you lied to her.”

 

“I’d rather discuss her hair,” Loki said. “Why is it so short and untamed?”

 

For the first time since entering the room, Sif turned to face him. “You’re kidding me, right? I told you about the accident!”

 

“Cars cut hair?” he asked mildly.

 

Jabbing a finger at the right side of her scalp, Sif snapped, “They had to shave my head to access the laceration and give me stitches. Turns out hair is irrelevant when it comes to saving your life.”

 

He felt like the ass she’d told him not to be. He should have made the connection on his own, but he’d been so focused on the Jane issue he’d rather overlooked everything related to the car accident.

 

Being humble was not one of Loki’s qualities, but he did know how to give a sincere apology when occasion called for it. “I truly apologize,” he said, trying to make his voice sound honest. “I should have realized, and would have if I’d been a better neighbor and friend.”

 

The fight went right out of her, and Sif turned away abruptly. Was she wiping a tear from her eye? Horrified, Loki sat paralyzed in his seat. He didn’t know how to respond, resorting to inaction rather than making things worse.

 

Turning to Coulson, Loki gestured at Sif. _Do something!_

 

Coulson shrugged. _You do something_.

 

But what? The last time he apologized, he got doused in pie. Sif wasn’t holding a confectionery treat, but Loki still didn’t feel comfortable approaching her. Perhaps this time she would lash out with her fists.

 

The silence dragged on, making Loki increasingly uncomfortable. Coulson did not appear bothered by the quiet, though he was busy observing Loki. Neither of them looked at Sif.

 

Eventually, she turned back to face them. If she had been crying, there was no evidence of it now. Her face was a blank mask, her eyes suspiciously calm. “I believe Dr. Coulson asked you a question,” she said, not looking at Loki.

 

Loki gave a start, having forgotten the comment that started this brief incident: tell Sif why he’d lied to her. “I’d rather not,” he said.

 

Fire sprang up in Sif’s eyes, though she still did not turn towards Loki. “Why not?” she asked, rage hiding behind her tightly controlled voice.

 

Loki shrugged, leaning back into the chair. “Cowardice,” he said, and she angled her head enough to stare at him. He couldn’t decipher her expression.

 

“Since when are you a coward?”

 

Since he was fifteen and couldn’t muster up the courage to ask out the girl next door who stole his heart. He’d never played his best game when she was involved.

 

The silence stretched until it was just bordering on uncomfortable when Coulson spoke. “I think Sif needs to hear an answer in order to deal with her own demons,” he said mildly. Sif crossed her arms at the word _demons_ , a scowl overtaking her beautiful face. “Your honest response would benefit her greatly.”

 

Loki huffed. The man was probably right, but that didn’t magically make it easy to spout one’s weaknesses. If Sif were looking at him with affection, he might consider giving in to the request, but the stubborn set of her chin and ice in her eyes were not conducive to open and honest dialogue.

 

And while that was entirely his own fault, it didn’t change the fact that Loki had a heart to guard, too.

 

Re-crossing his arms, he shook his head once.

 

To his immediate distress, large tears slipped down Sif’s cheeks, which she furiously scrubbed away. “Sif,” he said, alarm in his voice, but she wouldn’t look at him. His resolve to save his own dignity crumbled like a poorly made pie crust and he tripped over his own words trying to spit them out fast enough to stop her tears. “I didn’t want you to know I was unenhomed and employless.” He didn’t stop to correct his portmanteaus, rushing on. “It’s humiliating enough on its own, but to add your disdain to the mix was more than I could bear, so I fabricated a relationship I knew would keep you from asking any unwanted questions. I despise having your ill will.”

 

“Well, now you have it in spades,” she said, a touch rudely, which he supposed he deserved. But at least her tears had ceased.  

 

“But for reasons I can handle,” he replied.

 

She took a deep breath through her nose before turning to face him. “You’re a self-absorbed idiot, Loki Odinson,” she said. “I, too, was unemployed and homeless. We could have bonded over our pathetic lot in life rather than playing a wretched game of hide and seek where we were both hiding and nobody was seeking.”

 

They stared directly at one another, and the truth of her words hit home. They’d been hiding from each other since they were children, literally and figuratively, and he was only perpetuating the sad cycle.

 

“You’re not homeless; you live in Aunt Win’s house,” he said stupidly, having no other words.

 

“And you live in your parents’ home.”

 

“And that’s all the time we have this week,” Coulson interrupted, breaking the moment. Loki had momentarily forgotten the man was there. “I assume I’ll be seeing both of you next week?” At a nod from Sif, he said, “Good.”

 

“Now wait a moment--” Loki tried to interject.

 

“Don’t be late,” Coulson said, ushering them out of his office, through the lobby, and into the street. “Enjoy your afternoon!”

 

Loki stood on the sidewalk staring at the front door beside a Sif who looked equally surprised at what just happened. He noticed her hand just hanging there, and had to stuff his own in his pocket before he did something absurd like hold hers.

 

“I hate it when he does that,” she muttered, finally turning to Loki’s car. Pulling out his fob, he unlocked it and slid in the driver’s seat. Once Sif was situated with her seatbelt on, he locked the doors, activated the child safety lock, and took off.

 

“What are you doing,” Sif demanded, bracing herself against the door.

 

Taking a turn faster than he legally should have, Loki sped out of town, aiming for back roads. “We need to talk, preferably without a third party present, and if I take you home, you’ll run away before I can get a word in edgewise.”

 

“With good reason! Apparently I can add kidnapping to your list of sins!”

 

They had a lot of personal issues to deal with, but that session with Coulson had been enlightening. Not once had any party involved mentioned the car accident, barring Sif’s response to his query about her hair. Everything had focused around him and her. Clearly, Sif’s meetings with the man focused on her issues with Loki. Assuming Sif would continue dragging Loki to the man’s office for a weekly sponsored chat, he concluded whatever interpersonal issues they had would be dealt with there.

 

And it was probably best they host those conversations with a referee to prevent one of them (Sif) from killing the other (him).

 

That left one important issue Sif wasn’t talking about.

 

“Talk to me about the accident,” he said firmly.

 

Sif whipped her head around to look at him. “What?”

 

“Tell me about it.”

 

“No.”

 

The word started firm, but quavered as it dropped off. Bingo.

 

“I doubt you’ve spoken of it to anyone, and I know you, Sif. You process through talking. So talk.”

 

She stubbornly crossed her arms and stared out the window at passing cows. His irritation mounted; he was trying to be thoughtful here, and she was rejecting his overtures. And rudely, at that.

 

He pressed down on the accelerator, startling his passenger. She untangled her arms and gripped her seat. “Slow down,” she said.

 

“Not until you talk to me.”

 

“Slow down!”

 

“Not until you talk about the accident!”

 

“So you’re going to make me get over my perceived trauma by speeding through country roads?” she shrieked, and it occurred to Loki this might not be the best method. Lifting his foot, he let the car slow to just under the legal limit.

 

“Sorry,” he muttered.

 

Beside him, Sif was breathing through her nose and looking pale. Before he could think better of it, he reached over and clasped her shoulder. Loosening one hand, she reached up and grabbed his hand, holding too tightly. He said nothing, letting her work through the moment alone.

 

After several minutes the tension dissipated and she loosened her hold. Removing his hand from her shoulder, Loki tried to discreetly flex it. For someone who supposedly lived on her couch, she had a mean grip.

 

“Well,” she said at last, “guess that answers that question.”

 

“Which question?”

 

“The one about whether or not I was scared of driving. I haven’t really focused on it. With the exception of moving back, the longest car ride I’ve taken is to the doctor’s. I don’t think any of the roads between my place and Dr. Hogun’s goes over 35.”

 

He let a moment of quiet pass before asking, “So you were hit by someone who was speeding? Or were you the one speeding?”

 

She gave a tiny snort. “Neither. I was going the speed limit, and he was so drunk I don’t think he was even aware there was a speed limit.”

 

A drunk driver--that was worse than what Loki was expecting, considering her parents had also been hit by a drunk. He wasn’t sure if this qualified as karma, but it was grossly unfair.  “How bad was it?” he asked.

 

She took a long moment before responding, giving him a measuring look. “Bad,” she said simply.

 

“My mother said you broke everything a person could break.”

 

“Just about.” She raised a hand to the right side of her head, and Loki wondered if that’s where her stitches had been. “Did you know they don’t wrap broken ribs? It inhibits healing, so you just have to suffer through it. And they have to teach you how to breath deeply, because your instincts say to breathe shallowly so you don’t disturb the injury.”

 

“What happens if you don’t breathe deeply?”

 

“You develop pneumonia.”

 

Loki winced. He’d had his fair share of broken bones as a child (all caused by Thor and Sif, though he gave as good as he got), but never a serious injury that interfered with breathing. He took several deep breaths just to remind himself he still could. Beside him, Sif was doing the same. He smiled.

 

“You’re all healed now, right?” he clarified.

 

“Yes. Or, mostly. Still get phantom twinges in random places, and Hogun won’t clear me to return to work for some time yet. Gotta take it slow and rehabilitate myself.”

 

Wise. Sif wasn’t known for caution when it came to physical exertion. He recalled a track meet in high school where she had a cough bordering on bronchitis, and still she ran in the rain, despite attempts to convince her otherwise by Aunt Win, Mother, Thor, and himself. Her cough cleared up a few days later, and the ensuing gloating had been insufferable. He’d almost wished she developed something worse instead, just to prove a point.

 

With some gentle prodding, Sif quietly told him about her various injuries, his stomach sinking lower as she described each new one. She had navigated the healing process by herself, and although he was ashamed he hadn’t queried into her personal life enough to know he needed to help, he also held a quiet pride at her resilience. Had it been him, he would have given up in a puddle of complaints, content to die on the couch in ignominy. Sif, with no one at hand to assist, kept moving forward each day until she returned to human functionality.

 

He recalled Jane’s admonition to assist with yard work, and regretted dismissing the notion so quickly. He knew Volstagg and Fandral had offered their aid (Loki was adept at peeping through kitchen window blinds), but he should have done (paid) something (someone).

 

I need a job to support her rehabilitation, he mused.

 

A comfortable silence descended when Sif finished reporting on her injuries. Loki let her relax before he started his next query, because this line of conversation was not over, and she was not going to enjoy where it went next.

 

But first, a question. “How are you supporting yourself?”

 

“Aunt Win left me her millions,” she said. He laughed, supposing it a joke, but the expression on her face quickly quelled that notion.

 

“You’re serious?” he demanded, staring at her until she yelled at him to watch the road (it was most unfortunate that he ran over a possum at that exact moment; her _I told you so_ was displeasing, to say the least). Her quick explanation left him feeling perplexed.

 

Sweet Aunt Win, who volunteered at just about every organization known to man and worked as a school librarian, wrote torrid love affairs? He wondered if his mother knew about this, then decided he didn’t want to know. He liked his sterling image of Frigga, and he really didn’t want it tarnished by knowing she read lurid romances.

 

“Why don’t you hire help with that disgrace you call a lawn?”

 

“Because that would be admitting I hit rock bottom. So long as I can still pull a weed, I’m still a functional, independent woman.”

 

“But you don’t pull weeds.”

 

“But I _could_.”

 

Loki shook his head. What was money for, if not to hire workers for the jobs you disliked doing most?

 

“Can I go home now?” Sif asked, a touch of petulance lacing her voice. “I’d really like to get away from you.”

 

Ah, her candor. It was one of his favorite things about her.

 

“One more thing to cover.” She went stiff. “Let’s talk alcohol.”

 

“Coulson said I should give being a serial killer a go.”

 

Loki seriously wondered about this therapist of hers. “And that’s related how?”

 

“I want to go home,” she said instead.

 

“No.”

 

Turning in her seat, Sif glared at him. “You do not get to do this to me, Loki Odinson. You don’t get to ignore me for weeks on end, then suddenly pretend you care because now you know I’m home for medical reasons, not for a vacation or to deal with Aunt Win’s things. Whether or not I have issues is none of your concern.”

 

“You’re always my concern,” he shot back. “Even if you hate me--yes, yes, I know you do, move on already--I would be remiss in my duty to you as a friend and my duty to my mother, who probably loves you more than she loves me right now, if I said nothing. An entire therapy session, Sif, and no one brought up the drunk driving thing.

 

“I know you’re tough, but even tough people can have feelings.” Not that he knew anything about that, having no feelings whatsoever himself. “And given how everyone has described you as a hermit since you moved back home, I doubt you’ve dealt with this.”

 

“Oh, so what, I’m supposed to deal with it with you?” she asked angrily. “You, who deal with things by telling me you’re married to your sister-in-law? And anyway, _what_ was the purpose of that stupid stunt? Did your mother drop you on your head as a baby?”

 

“You never attended parties in high school. I’ve never seen you in possession of alcohol. Do you even drink?”

 

“Stars alive, Loki, what do you want me to say? That I know how destructive alcohol is? That refusing to drink made me something of an outcast in college? Who doesn’t drink after a victorious sporting event, huh? The weird kid, that’s who. I got lumped in with the weird religious kids. And you know what? I got sick of it, so I finally gave in and binge drank my way into a blackout, and there is nothing that compares with waking up the next day, head pounding, with no memory of the night before and an absolute panic attack because I couldn’t be positive I hadn’t killed someone in an automobile accident.”

 

Now they were getting somewhere. Sif dealt with problems by running from them, evidenced by their entire relationship, so he bet this was the first time she’d acknowledged this particular issue. “So I bet you were thrilled when you found out how drunk the perp was.”

 

“His blood alcohol content was at 0.121, so yeah, you bet I was pissed. He was so far past the legal limits, I think his friends should be equally culpable for letting him get in the car.” She whirled on him suddenly, and Loki felt the heat of her glare. “Were you a frat boy in college?” she demanded, her opinion already half formed.

 

“I think you’ve mistaken me for my brother,” Loki said drily.

 

The fire went out of her, and she faced the front again. “Forgot who I was talking to,” she muttered. “I should have asked if you even had any friends in college.”

 

That might have stung if it weren’t true, but he was determined to keep her distracted. No need to admit to Prohibition Sif that he’d awoken more than once unsure where he was. One didn’t need to be a frat boy to be acquainted with booze.

 

And anyway, those days were behind him. Working at his firm in New York had been a demanding job. Eighty-hour weeks were commonplace, and often on the lower end. He had to be available at the snap of a finger, and had gained more than one promotion because he wasn’t punch-drunk when one of the partners needed something.

 

Make yourself invaluable, climb the ranks. Then, one day, take it all over. That had been his motto, his goal, before he realized he didn’t recognize himself in the mirror anymore. Becoming a full partner at Haldor & Hela hadn’t seemed nearly as important as making sure he still knew who Loki Odinson was.

 

So he quit, and now here he was, driving back country roads in Georgia while convincing Sif to talk about the ills of alcohol. His life had not turned out the way he’d planned.

 

He smiled.

 

“There’s no point in dwelling on this,” Sif said, staring out the window. “No one agrees with me. American society is lubricated with alcohol. I probably have a better chance convincing the public that football is for wimps, so why bother wasting energy thinking about it?”

 

Loki made a mental note to hide his wine collection before Sif came over again. “You talk about it so it doesn’t fester,” he said. She gave him a pointed look, but gratefully didn’t point out his many festering wounds. “Not to mention if I get you to talk about it, you’re less likely to yell at me about it in an unexpected moment.”

 

“I literally just yelled at you over it.”

 

“In a controlled setting of my choice.”

 

He could hear her eye roll, though she said nothing.

 

At the next intersection (some five miles away), Loki flipped a u-ey and started back toward town. Sif remained quiet, staring out her window, though she periodically gave thoughtful sighs. At least she wasn’t crying, and Loki fancied the atmosphere was more pleasant than it had been all afternoon.

 

When he pulled into his driveway and turned off the engine, Sif didn’t immediately get out, though her hand hovered at the door handle. Loki admired her strong hands, hands used for defense. Hands that had hit him on more than one occasion, not that he’d ever deserved such treatment. Thor, on the other hand, deserved every punch he ever took.

 

“Thank you,” she said, so softly Loki almost didn’t hear her. “But don’t think you’re out of the doghouse yet. I’m still angry at the stunt you pulled.”

 

Fishing out his wallet, Loki handed her the folded up paper of insults from _The Iliad_. “I know,” he said, and watched as she exited and walked toward her house. At the fence line, she drew up short, nearly running into the angry roommate/gay couple, both still sporting scowls. Huh. Maybe that neighborhood watch Jane had mentioned had merit; he wouldn’t want to run into those two in the middle of the night.

 

Later that evening, Loki found Jane in her room, composing an email to his brother. The look she gave him as he knocked made him feel entirely too much like one of her misbehaving students. He tossed the credit card he was holding onto her bed. “You and Sif have an appointment on Saturday,” he said. “I’ll text you the address.”

 

Jane picked up his card, fingering it delicately. “Is this something stupid?” she asked. “And how mad is Sif about it?”

 

“If you return telling me I have an antelope heart, we’ll know the answer to both questions.”

 

She huffed and bid him goodnight.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (1) The Iliad for the win! It is one of my favorite books. I snobbily reference it whenever I can, because Achilles is the greatest. 
> 
> (2) Also: [Clark Gregg (Coulson) in glasses](https://www.google.com/search?q=clark+gregg+glasses&safe=active&rlz=1CALEAI_enUS709US709&tbm=isch&source=iu&ictx=1&fir=Fr5UQM51ALWNPM%253A%252CoPUVvUL5xKYyFM%252C_&usg=__ITOe9G5T8VqgNWtNkajVyjFP8Vc%3D&sa=X&ved=0ahUKEwjCt4yh0cXbAhUOna0KHXfdCF8Q9QEIKzAA#imgrc=Fr5UQM51ALWNPM:). Pardon me as I swoon over an older man. 
> 
> (3) I have no idea if sports cars come with child safety locks. I tried to research it, but didn’t find anything conclusive. I would just look at my own sports car, but, you know, my ‘02 Honda doesn’t qualify…
> 
> (4) Technically possums live in Australia and opossums in America, but where I come from, the only people who say “opossum” are the hifalutin educated people looking down their noses at the rest of us. Fun fact: I was in my 20s before I saw my first live possum. Before that, I’d only seen ‘em dead on the side of the road.


	7. By the Way, I Do Know Why

Sif sat at her kitchen table, bowed over Loki’s list of insults as she laughed. _Death twice over to this [Odinson]! Let him be broken at the [women’s] hands!_ That was her favorite by far. She would like to have it engraved in stone and posted above the front door.

 

Dragging Loki to therapy yesterday had been a last-minute decision born of rage when she spotted his car sitting uselessly in the driveway. Why he didn’t park in the garage like a normal human, she did not know, but it had sparked such irrational anger she stormed over and into the house before she thought her actions through.

 

She was surprised he hadn’t resisted her; she’d expected a knock-down, drag-out fight, with screaming to rival football spectators. Maybe he really wanted to go to therapy, but needed someone to drag him to it? That would be like Loki: self-improvement only when forced into it. Otherwise, he’d claim he was a perfect specimen of humanity, and you can’t improve perfection.

 

Fingers of irritation crept into her thoughts. They may have had a moment yesterday in the car, but she was still humiliated over the whole marriage thing. One good interaction did not a lie erase, and it was going to be a while before she forgave him.

 

Moving to the couch, Sif made a call to Volstagg. It rang several times before mini-Volstagg answered. “Daddy’s answering service,” the tiny voice said. “If your call takes more than ten minutes, try again later ‘cause Daddy’s got dishes to do.”

 

A grin spread across Sif’s face. She wasn’t a big kid person, but Volstagg’s were making her reconsider the issue. “Hey Mini-Volstagg, it’s Sif.” She didn’t make it any further, interrupted by joyous cries of “Siffy! Siffy!”

 

It took a moment of kid dancing before the phone was passed off to an adult and Volstagg’s booming voice cried, “Sif!”

 

There was so much joy infused in the sound of her name, Sif couldn’t help but feel better. Volstagg radiated sunlight; he reminded her a bit of Thor, and for a brief moment she almost missed high school. “Hey. So. Um. Stupid question--”

 

“There are no stupid questions,” Volstagg interrupted her.

 

“Clearly you’ve never studied with Loki.”

 

“Stupid people, sure, but not stupid questions. They’re just born of ignorance.”

 

Hence making them stupid questions. But Sif wasn’t calling to argue that point. “Anyway, last week when you were at my place, you said something about Jane’s wedding. You were referring to Jane’s wedding with Thor, right?”

 

“It’s the only wedding she’s had, unless Thor forgot to tell me something.”

 

“And you weren’t surprised to find she was living with Loki…?”

 

“No, that was a shock, but not a very big one, considering Thor’s overseas. When Hilde’s pregnant, she spends the first three months throwing up everything she’s ever thought of eating. If I were out of the country, I’d want someone to take care of her in my absence.”

 

Feeling a little stupid, Sif figured she’d better confess the truth now lest Volstagg find out later from someone else. And anyway, he was less likely to mock her for it; Fandral, on the other hand, would have a field day. “Yeah, about that. So Loki lied to me and said he was married to Jane, and since I didn’t know Thor was married, I believed it. And gosh, I’ve got to be the most gullible idiot in Vanaheim, because I should have known better than to assume someone as obviously fabulous as Jane would look twice at that skinny little nobody--” which did not say much for Sif, as she was still looking twice at said skinny nobody “--but I didn’t and now I’m mad.”

 

“Oh, Sif,” Volstagg said softly (which meant it still shook the whole house, bless his heart). “That was low.”

 

“I know,” she said, and bit her lip to keep it from trembling. “But that’s not the worst of it. I dragged his sorry ass to therapy yesterday, so in turn he locked me in his car and drove to the middle of nowhere and made me talk about all the things I’ve been ignoring about the accident, and now I want to cut his face off with a machete _and_ cuddle up on a couch with him. I hate this.”

 

Something sounding suspiciously like choked laughter came from Volstagg. “You could do both,” he suggested brightly. “Cut the face off first, but make sure you get his tongue so he can’t talk while you cuddle.”

 

That was certainly appealing. Maybe he could keep the face, and just the tongue could go. It was, after all, Loki’s only flaw. “I like it,” she said.

 

“Come over for dinner, Sif.”

 

“Dinner’s over,” she pointed out, “which is why you’re doing dishes. Or so I assume.”

 

“We’ll have second dinner. The kids will love it--two desserts!”

 

An evening spent with someone besides herself was mighty tempting. The Volstagg family noise would keep her from drowning in her own thoughts, which she could surely use. Plus she could finally meet the infamous matriarch. Speaking of… “Is your wife okay with this? I don’t want to impose on family time.”

 

“Siffy-girl, around here, all time is family time, and every person who walks through the door is family.”

 

It sounded so wonderful Sif couldn’t help but agree.

 

*

 

Volstagg’s house was organized chaos. He lived on three acres just outside of town; there was a cow in a distant pasture and a horde of chickens running around, several of whom kept trying to get in the house, where the wife kept shooing them out with a broom. There were six kids inside who did not belong to him, but acted as if they belonged in the house. Mini-Volstagg and Girl-Volstagg were underfoot and chasing kittens and a small dog, and in between shooing chickens out the back door and whipping up some heavenly-smelling chocolate concoction, Hildegund yelled at everyone, though it was all good-natured. Love permeated the air, and Sif immediately felt at home.

 

One of the strange kids let her in and directed her to the kitchen, where Sif took a seat at the counter and observed the scene, wondering how long it would take for someone to notice she was there. Propping her chin on her hand, she watched with amusement as a little girl stuffed a chicken under her shirt and snuck past Hildegund toward the stairs. She was almost successful in her mission, but at the last minute Mini-Volstagg rounded the corner in pursuit of a kitten and ran head-first into the little girl. There was a flurry of feathers, fur, arms, and legs as everyone collapsed in a squawking heap.

 

“Land’s sakes!” Hildegund hollered. “Get that durn chicken outta my house, Liza Ann! I’ve got company coming and we need to straighten this barn out.” Within minutes, every child had a broom or dustcloth in hand, or was on the floor picking up stray toys and chicken feathers. Nobody complained, everybody worked hard, and in less than five minutes the room was clean and children were lining up to wash their hands.

 

“Didn’t we already eat?” Girl-Volstagg asked, helping her brother dry his hands.

 

“It’s second dinner,” an older boy instructed. “It’s what happens when people get invited over late.”

 

“And we want a presentable house before Miss Sif gets here, ya hear?”

 

“But she’s already here,” said the boy who let Sif in, and he pointed at her. “I welcomed her!”

 

Nine sets of eyes landed on Sif, who smiled and waved. A new flutter of activity broke out until all the kids were lined up and clean and all the animals had mysteriously disappeared. Hildegund wiped her hands on her apron and gave Sif a large welcoming smile. “Welcome!” she said, and while her voice wasn’t quite as loud as Volstagg’s, Sif had no doubt the woman could hold her own when it came to volume. “I sent my husband out to get more whipped cream for dessert, but he’ll be back in a jiff. I’m Hildegund, and some of these rapscallions are mine, while some live here in between sleeping at their own houses.”

 

Four little hands went up, and Sif laughed. “I’m Sif. Thank you for having me over.”

 

Dinner was a production. Being second dinner, each kid got a dollop of each dish rather than a full portion, while the adults were served regular amounts. From the way Volstagg and Hildegund ate, Sif never would have guessed they’d already had a first dinner. Dessert was some magical brownie goodness that ruined Sif for any other brownie the world had to offer.

 

Once food was consumed, the adults sat at the table while the littles cleared the table and did the dishes, bickering back and forth but never complaining. Sif was impressed. She was a grown woman and she complained about having to clean up her Heimdall’s takeout containers.

 

As the kids finished, they scattered to their various homes or to the den to watch TV, with a promise that bedtime came after one episode of whatever Netflix show they were watching.

 

“You run a farm,” Sif said once the children were all gone. “A kid farm. This is amazing.”

 

“It’s all Hilde’s doing,” Volstagg said, wrapping an arm around his wife. “She’s the best drill sergeant I’ve ever come across. Even Fandral falls in line when she barks orders.”

 

“It’s all in managing expectations,” Hildegund said, smiling up at her husband. “Even tiny children are capable of following instructions, if you train them right. They’re happier for it, too.”

 

“I think I need to take lessons,” Sif said. “Or maybe you ought to teach an online course.”

 

Volstagg let out a belly laugh. “Hear, hear!”

 

“It’s not that difficult,” Hildegund said, blushing prettily. “I’m nothing special. You should see my mama at family reunions.”

 

“That is true,” Volstagg said. “Her mother is the fiercest warrior I’ve ever met. But also one of the greatest people.”

 

They had a moment of gag-inducing cooing at each other, which normally Sif would have mocked mercilessly, but now she just smiled wistfully at. She loved this house. One evening in, and Sif could happily see herself hiding in a corner for the rest of her life, content just to be part of the madness.

 

But if what Hildegund said was true, attaining similar domestic bliss wasn’t impossible. A half-baked plan formed in Sif mind; this was either going to be wildly disastrous or a massive success. Considering her life was already squarely in the disastrous, giving it a shot surely couldn’t hurt.

 

Interrupting the family moment, Sif said, “Hildegund, teach me your ways.”

 

*

 

Saturday, just after one in the afternoon, Sif answered a knock on her door to find Jane standing there, Loki’s car idling behind her, but no Loki in sight.

 

“I’m kidnapping you,” Jane said, all smiles.

 

Sif narrowed her eyes. “This is becoming a family trait,” she said. “Did Loki put you up to this?”

 

“I’m not sure I want to answer that,” Jane said. “But don’t worry, this is grown-up girl bonding time. No Loki in sight.”

 

No longer in possession of an excuse to avoid Jane, Sif found she really wanted to befriend the woman. Jane, who already knew the situation, who already knew too much about Sif’s history with the Odinsons, who was so kind and friendly _all the time_. Sif wanted that in her life.

 

“All right,” she said, grabbing her purse and shoes. “Let’s be kidnapped.”

 

Jane took her to Eir’s Salon, the fanciest hair salon in town—so fancy, it was the only place Frigga trusted to do her hair. Sif’s eyes went wide as they parked, unsure if she was classy enough to enter such an establishment, especially in her ripped jeans and high school track T-shirt.

 

She almost questioned if she had enough money for such a trip, before remembering she now had more than enough money to do whatever she wanted. It was a strange feeling.

 

“Are you subtly saying I’m ugly?” Sif asked as she exited the car.

 

“No; I’m saying I need a haircut, and who doesn’t like a scalp massage?” Jane said. “Unless you’re not into hair salons; guess I should have asked before I dragged you here.”

 

Sif fingered her scraggly hair. It was in desperate need of some tender love and care, and expensive conditioner sounded perfect. “As you can see, I’m stunningly gorgeous with perfect hair,” Sif said in a tone that indicated the exact opposite. “You’re probably a godsend, Jane, because I don’t know if I was ever leaving the house on my own.”

 

Linking their arms together, Jane steered Sif towards the front door. “Great! Then let’s bond!”

 

They had a bit of a wait before their turns, but the place was so fancy each waiting chair was also a massager. Settling in, Sif closed her eyes in pleasure as the chair turned on and worked its magic on her back. It had been too long since she pampered herself in any way.

 

Without the whole Loki-marriage-thing in the way, Sif learned a lot about Jane. She’d had grand plans, but realized none of them would make her happy if she didn’t have Thor by her side, so married him a lot younger than she’d planned on, and hadn’t regretted one second of it. Getting Frigga as a mother-in-law had been icing on the cake.

 

Jane genuinely liked Loki, when he wasn’t being a turd bucket (her words), and loved that he could keep up with her intellectual fortitude. He was the brother she never had, which made Sif smile. Jane also liked Odin (Sif was beginning to suspect Jane liked everybody, which made her an excellent match for Thor, who also liked everyone). More than once she’d talked Loki down from an Odin-induced rage.

 

“But sometimes he needs a good pie to the face,” Jane said. “Good move, by the way. He absolutely deserved it.”

 

“Yeah he did,” Sif said. “My only regret there is I didn’t throw a second pie at him.”

 

Jane smiled brightly. “We could arrange that, you know.”

 

For a moment, Sif visualized lobbing another pie at Loki, remembering the satisfying squelch as the pie made contact. Equally satisfying was the disheveled look of streaked berries mussing his usually perfect image.

 

“I love it,” Sif said, “but after Thursday, I should probably stick to imagining rubbing another pie in his face.”

 

“Thursday? What happened Thursday?”

 

“We, uh, had a moment. One that actually pushed us forward, instead of regressing us, like we’ve been doing too much of late.”

 

Jane stared at her. “Seriously? Loki? A moment? With you?”

 

“Don’t get too excited; it was preceded by me dragging him to therapy, which went about as well as you’d expect.”

 

Now Jane’s jaw dropped. “Therapy? _Loki?_ ”

 

Sif half shrugged. “He needs it.”

 

“I mean, _yeah_ , but I think he’d rather get a voluntary lobotomy.”

 

Yeah, that sounded about right, bless his stupid heart.

 

It was finally her turn, so Sif moved to a hairdresser’s chair. She’d had long hair her whole life, but now that the worst of the buzz was behind her, she was kind of excited to try out the whole short hair thing—with a proper cut, that is.

 

“Make me look pretty,” Sif said, and let the hairdresser do her thing.

 

The scalp massage was just as magical as Jane had promised, and Sif thought she was going to die from happiness overload. Whatever shampoo the stylist used smelled heavenly, and for a moment Sif closed her eyes and imagined she was in a tropical paradise somewhere.

 

The cut itself didn’t take long, as Sif didn’t have much hair to work with, but the end product was a stylish pixie that made Sif wonder why she hadn’t chopped all her hair off years ago. Running her hands through the short ‘do, Sif couldn’t stop staring at herself in the mirror. I feel fabulous, she thought, and for the first time in months didn’t envy Jane her hair.

 

The stylist gave her a quick tutorial on how to recreate the look. Sif took careful notes, determined to not fall back into her post-car-crash slump, and was delighted to find it would be easy to master. It helped that there wasn’t much hair to work with, but still. Historically, Sif had had zero luck making her hair look as good as any hairdresser could, but this look just involved a bit of gel and an ounce of patience.

 

Jane, having a mountain of hair, took a lot longer to complete her cut, so Sif settled in to wait. Fortunately, Jane’s hairdresser wasn’t super chatty, leaving Jane available to talk with Sif.

 

“Did you know Thor was growing his hair out before joining the army?” Jane asked. “He was giving me a run for my money.”

 

Sif tried to picture the former football star with long locks, but came up with nothing. Longer hair had always been Loki’s domain. “You’re going to have to show me a picture,” Sif said.

 

“Grab me my phone out of my purse,” Jane said. In a moment she had pulled up a picture of Thor, bigger and more muscle-y than he’d been in high school (and it was a good look on him, Sif was not ashamed to admit), with his golden hair hanging down past his shoulders.

 

“Daaamn,” she said, and immediately regretted it when she remembered Jane was his wife.

 

Fortunately, Jane didn’t seem to be the jealous type. “I know, right?” she said. “Turns out that husband of mine can pull off just about any look he wants to.”

 

Handing the phone back, Sif said, “Still, I can’t imagine Frigga loved it.”

 

“She didn’t. She loves the army; they made him cut his hair.”

 

Loki probably loved it, too; he never had been fond of Thor encroaching on his territory.

 

“Did you like it?”

 

Jane waved her phone at Sif. “You saw what he looked like. _Of course_ I liked it.”

 

And that was bordering a little too close on territory Sif did not want to discuss. Married people could be grossly TMI.

 

“So does Thor know Loki pretended you were his wife?”

 

“No,” Jane said, “not yet, but only because of the time difference and difficulty in spilling family secrets across an ocean and two continents. I can’t decide if he’s going to be enraged or find it all hilarious.”

 

“Maybe both,” Sif said. “He’ll be mad until he punches Loki, and then he’ll find it hilarious.”

 

“Those two,” Jane said, shaking her head. “I’ve never seen more loyal brothers, but you have to wade through a cesspool of crap before you find the affection.”

 

Sif snorted. Didn’t she know it.

 

“Frigga has told me stories about what the two of them used to do to Asgard,” Jane said, and Sif did a double-take.

 

“Are they seriously still calling the house that?” she interrupted.

 

“Yes. Frigga seems very proud of the name.”

 

Sif ducked her head.

 

“Okay, you can’t make that face and not tell me why,” Jane said.

 

“It’s not that great a story, just a little embarrassing,” Sif told her. Childhood stories often were, and while she was sure Thor wouldn’t care, Loki might not appreciate the tale getting out. “I can tell you, but only if you promise not to let it get back to Loki. He’s weirdly touchy about unexpected things.”

 

Jane nodded. “If that isn’t the truth.”

 

Figuring Jane was friendly and family, Sif decided Loki could deal with his sister-in-law knowing he used to be a pleasant child. “Loki’s a bit of a stick in the mud now, and wants you to know how unendingly normal he is. This behavior started around high school, but before that, he had plenty of imagination—more than Thor and I combined.

 

“The three of us used to spend a lot of time playing Knight and Princess, and constantly fought over who got to be the knight and who got to be the princess.”

 

“Who did the third person have to be?”

 

Sif grinned. “Depended on who was knight and who was princess. Thor always wanted Loki to be the gallant knight to his lady princess, meaning I had to be the dragon doing the princess-stealing. When I was knight, Loki made the best princess, and Thor had to be the king or the priest who married us. When I was princess, they had to be dueling knights come to battle for my hand.”

 

“Who won?” Jane asked, amused.

 

“When Thor won, I turned into an evil knight and fought him. When Loki won, I chased him around the house trying to kiss him. Man, did he hate that,” she said fondly, remembering the number of times he’d locked himself in the bathroom just to avoid her.

 

“Anyway,” Sif continued, “we needed fantastical names—“

 

“Because Thor, Loki, and Sif aren’t fantastic enough,” Jane said wryly.

 

“—okay, fair enough, but we still needed names, and Loki was best at coming up with them, changing them every time we played.

 

“The one thing that stayed constant, however, was the name of the kingdom we lived in, which he named Asgard. Frigga overheard us once referencing to our home Asgard, and thought we’d named the house. She loved it so much it became a staple in the household.”

 

“That’s not a bad story,” Jane said. “Not embarrassing in the slightest.”

 

Sif rolled her eyes. “I know,” she said, “but high and mighty Loki, after his goth phase, tried to be as stereotypically normal as possible, and was highly embarrassed every time Frigga called the house Asgard. She had to start telling people it was a family name.”

 

“Of course,” Jane said as she rolled her own eyes.

 

Chatter devolved into talk of the baby (no name yet) as Jane’s layers were finalized. Watching those beautiful tresses fall down Jane’s back, Sif almost regressed into jealousy until she caught sight of herself in the mirror. Struck again with the fabulousness of the cut, Sif let the jealousy go and admired her own hair instead.

 

Once the cape was removed and stray hairs brushed off of Jane, the women moved to the front desk to pay. The total made Sif’s eyes bug out—it was over three times what she would have thought it was worth.

 

It’s been fun, but I’m never doing this again, she thought as she reached into her purse for her wallet. Before she could pull out her card, Jane handed the receptionist a black card and announced she was covering Sif’s share, too.

 

“No way,” Sif said, reaching out to grab Jane’s shoulder. “You’re a school teacher; you can’t afford to cover me.”

 

“Oh, I’m not,” Jane said. “This one’s on Loki.”

 

Sif’s jaw dropped, and it took her a moment to respond. “Does Loki know this is on him?”

 

Jane shrugged. “Guess you’ll have to ask him to find out.”

 

Like that was happening. If he did know he was footing the bill, she didn’t want him to know she had thoughts on the matter. And if he didn’t know, she didn’t want to get Jane in trouble.

 

Still, she wasn’t opposed to letting him drop exorbitant amounts of cash on the pair of them. They deserved it.

 

“Excellent.”

 

*

 

With fabulous new hair, Sif realized her old wardrobe of yoga pants, tank tops and T-shirts wasn’t going to cut it, so she took herself on a shopping spree. She’d been in college the last time she updated her wardrobe, over half a decade ago, and wasn’t sure what was currently in style. She had to spend several days stalking fashion blogs to get an idea of what was trendy, and another day or two to convince herself to actually leave her house and go to the store.

 

What finally convinced her was her determination to knock Loki’s socks off the next time he saw her. She may still be mad at him (three nights in a row she cried herself to sleep over feeling so stupid as to fall for his lie), but didn’t the saying go that looking better than the person you were mad at was the best possible revenge?

 

Loki left her a note saying he’d meet her at therapy as he was busy with something, which suited Sif just fine. Arriving separately meant he couldn’t kidnap her again. It also meant she could make an entrance.

 

Arriving fifteen minutes late, Sif flung open the doors, imagining model-worthy wind announcing her entrance. Clad in black skinny jeans, a black sheer top with a floral print across the shoulders and strappy sandals, Sif left her sunglasses on to make an impression.

 

“Wow,” Hunter said as she breezed past his desk. “You are smoking.”

 

“That’s the idea,” Sif said, opening the door to Coulson’s office.

 

Again, she imagined model wind announcing her entrance, but it all came to a screeching halt as she saw Loki lounging in a stunning three-piece suit.

 

Of course. _Of course_ the one time she put an ounce of effort into looking her best, he managed to outshine her. Betrayal cut deep as she stormed to the other chair, dropping into it in a cloud of irritation.

 

It took her a moment to realize neither Coulson nor Loki were talking. Glancing up, she saw they were both staring at her, Coulson with wide eyes and Loki with his jaw actually dropped. Perhaps she had accomplished her entrance after all, and a smirk danced across her lips.

 

“May I help you?” she asked sweetly.

 

Coulson adjusted his glasses. “Sif. I see you finally made it off the couch.” Loki said nothing, though his mouth was now firmly closed.

 

“I’d say it was about time, don’t you think?” Sif said.

 

“I do,” Coulson said. “This might be your first real step in overcoming your recent trauma.”

 

She preened under Coulson’s praise. She did feel like a new woman.

 

Loki finally opened his mouth. “Your hair,” was all he said, and she scowled.

 

“Really? My hair? Is that all you can talk about? I know it’s short, but what do you expect? Hair doesn’t grow overnight. And even if it did, I happen to like it short, so get used to it!”

 

Loki pursed his lips, thinking through a response for probably the first time in his life. The moment of silence reminded Sif of the tips Hildegund had given her on how to run a tight ship, the first of which was to remain calm in the face of the storm. If you rose to the level of stupidity (or emotion) you were facing, your opponent would drag you down to their level and defeat you with experience.

 

The second was to calmly state expectations, then act as if they were going to happen. If you stated expectations then hovered to make sure they were followed, it sent the message that you didn’t mean what you said.

 

Before Loki could say anything, Sif looked him in the eye and calmly said, “You may think what you want, but I do not wish to hear your opinion.” And if I wanted to hear it, I’d tell you what it was, she thought. “Continue your conversation before I interrupted it.”

 

There might be something to Hildegund’s instructions after all--Loki actually listened. He didn’t offer an opinion, didn’t continue the fight she’d (admittedly) started, but turned back to Coulson. “I don’t change diapers,” he said, and Sif did a double take to make sure she’d heard correctly.

 

“It could be good for you,” Coulson said. “True service. The only reward you’d get is a cessation of screaming. And maybe dissipation of odor.”

 

“Do I look like someone who changes diapers?” Loki said. “That’s what nannies are for.”

 

“And since you were raised by a nanny, you would know.”

 

“I wasn’t raised by a nanny. Mother did not stoop so low as to have others do her work for her.”

 

Sif interrupted. “But you do stoop that low?”

 

“I do not have children, so it is not an issue.”

 

“But your sister-in-law is having a baby, and you live with her, which makes it your issue,” Coulson said.

 

“What he said,” Sif said.

 

Loki crossed his arms defensively. It was grossly unfair that he was lounging in a suit, but there wasn’t a wrinkle in sight. What witchcraft was he working to make that happen? And what sorcery made his suit coat conform perfectly to his shoulders, constantly grabbing Sif’s eye and distracting her?

 

“Are we here discussing Jane’s future, or interactions betwixt Sif and myself?” Loki asked, a glint in his eyes. “Because while I will allow Sif to drag me to this farce of advice, if we are to discuss Jane, I will walk out.”

 

_Allow?_ How rude, as if he were giving her permission to do what should have been done years ago. It raised her hackles, and Sif had to remind herself to breathe evenly. Getting worked up never produced positive results when dealing with Loki, even if landing a solid punch on his arm would be deeply satisfying.

 

Coulson jotted something down on his notepad, then gestured between Sif and Loki. “Go ahead and talk to her.”

 

Loki cocked a brow at her, but she leaned back and stared at him. He started this; he got to speak first.

 

Once again, they sat in silence for some time, both too stubborn to say anything.

 

They had a variety of issues to discuss, but all she wanted to know was why he was so dressed up. For an unemployed bum who spent all day in the basement, it was awfully formal. Was he dressing up to impress her? Did he have a job interview? Was someone dead, and he was either coming from or going to a funeral? Had Jane told him about their hair excursion, and he was trying to prove he was fabulous, too?

 

That last one almost made her snort. He would dress up just for that.

 

Her lips curled in amusement, making Loki huff in irritation, which only further increased her amusement.

 

At last, Loki broke the silence. “This is your idea,” he said a touch rudely, “so you should say something. Otherwise we can sit in silence just as well from our respective bedrooms.”

 

“Ever impatient,” she said. “Waiting sometimes produces better results.”

 

“Lies,” Loki said. “Work for what you want, and get rewarded immediately for it. There may be a larger reward in the distance, but don’t do anything for free just to get you there.”

 

Sif rolled her eyes. “Typical. Is that why you dated Sigyn? Knew she’d _reward_ you immediately?”

 

“Ah, see, I always knew you were jealous of her,” he said, smugness lacing his words.

 

“So jealous, I left for college and didn’t speak to you again for years,” Sif said sweetly.

 

“You wanted what you couldn’t have.”

 

She briefly considered deflecting, but wasn’t the point of therapy to get things off your chest you couldn’t say elsewhere? After all, what happened at Coulson’s stayed at Coulson’s. “I did want you,” she said. Loki didn’t react so much as went completely still, which for him was the same as gaping in shock. “But why sit around and cry about it when you so clearly did not feel the same? You had your reward, and I carried on with my life.”

 

“You weren’t interested in me,” he said.

 

“Why on earth do you think I sat through study session after study session with you? I don’t like school; that’s your domain, not mine. I just liked listening to you talk.”

 

It was not often one could shock Loki into silence. It produced a similar feeling as throwing a pie in his face; Sif liked the feeling. She might need to make a study of this and figure out how to do it more often.

 

Loki worked his jaw, though it took nearly a whole minute for actual words to come out. Sif thought it made him look a bit like a fish. “But you were still getting over Thor,” he said.

 

“Thor? The dumb brute who dumped me for a leggy blonde? Yeah, that stung. I know I’m not grandiose or whatever, but I thought better of Thor than that.”

 

“He didn’t break up with you because of Amora.”

 

“Right. Go ahead, try and talk me out of that one.”

 

“Thor likes you, Sif. Genuinely likes you. It’s been over a decade since high school, and he still manages to bring you up in half our conversations, wondering what you’re doing and where you’re living and whether or not you’d be up to reenacting the great frosting debacle of third grade. His one regret in life is that he didn’t like you more, so he could have dated you properly.”

 

That...was hard to believe, but Loki stated it so matter-of-factly she was having a hard time disagreeing.

 

“Still dumped me,” she managed to get out.

 

“Of course he did, because he’s unendingly loyal.”

 

“Hah!” Sif exclaimed, pointing an accusatory finger at Loki. “If you call that loyalty, it sure explains a lot about your mismanaged relationships in life.”

 

Loki rolled his eyes, looking for all the world as if he were explaining something to an unintelligent child. “Not loyalty to you, Sif. Loyalty to me.”

 

Her finger remained pointed at him, though it quivered just a smidge. Barely imperceptible, really. She made a noise that had no real emotion attached to it.

 

Crossing his legs, Loki idly tapped his knee. “He knew of my regard for you, and rather than exacerbate our family problems, he broke up with you.”

 

She wanted to make fun of him for using words like _regard_ and _exacerbate_ , but her brain was stuck on _my regard for you_.

 

_My regard for you_

 

_My_ regard _for you_

 

_My regard for_ you

 

“You didn’t like me!” she exploded. “You freaking dated Sigyn, for crying out loud! Those are not the actions of a teenage boy in love!”

 

“You never showed an ounce of interest,” he shot back. 

 

“I sat and studied with you every day for half a year!”

 

“And Sigyn liked science,” he went on as if she hadn’t spoken. “I find that highly attractive, and since you still looked at me like a fun science experiment gone hilariously wrong, I put a few of my eggs in another basket.”

 

“ _Every! Day!”_ she shouted, all thoughts of calm expectations long flung out the window.

 

“You have a poor way of showing interest.”

 

“ _I_ have a poor way? _You_ dated someone else, and expected me to think that meant you liked me?”

 

“I didn’t expect you to think anything about it, because I didn’t think you liked me.”

 

“And furthermore, you haven’t changed one ounce, mister. Now, when faced with the prospect of renewing our friendship, what was the first thing you did? Oh yeah, that’s right, you _lied_ and said you were married to your sister-in-law!” Loki made as if to respond, but upon consideration, said nothing. Sif hoped it was because he realized she was right. “That’s a sad way to navigate romantic waters, Loki, if every time you’re faced with actually liking someone, you deal with it by hiding behind some other woman.”

 

Loki turned abruptly back to Coulson (who was sporting an infuriating smirk). “Tell her to stop,” he said, and Sif swore she heard a touch of petulance in his voice.

 

“Stop what?” Coulson asked.

 

“Yeah, stop what?” Sif childishly added.

 

“Just--stop.”

 

“Stop what?” she pressed.

 

“Just stop!” he shouted at her, then retreated into silence.

 

“I’m right,” Sif said with growing triumph, “and you know it and you don’t like it. This is a red letter day--Loki Odinson, admitting to himself that someone else is right. Hah!”

 

He glared at her. “I said nothing of the sort.”

 

“You don’t have to; your silence says it all for you.”

 

“Sif,” Coulson sternly interjected. “Gloating is not going to help you two progress.”

 

Sif leaned back in her chair, holding her hands up in casual disregard. “Don’t care,” she said. “I’ve been waiting my whole life to get the verbal one-up on him, and I’m going to enjoy it.”

 

Loki brought his long, elegant fingers up to pinch the bridge of his nose. The action momentarily arrested Sif’s crowing. She’d forgotten just how beautiful he was, even as he tried to deny defeat. In that three-piece suit with that look of longsuffering, Loki belonged on the cover of GQ. She tried to hide a gulp behind a clearing of her throat.

 

Her pause also allowed her notice the tightness around his eyes, and it finally hit her how uncomfortable he was. Part of her felt guilty for pushing him to feel this way, but part of her felt extremely satisfied that he was facing his own flaws.

 

Unfortunately, having split emotions did not help her know where to take this conversation next, so she turned to Coulson and changed the topic. “My hair looks fabulous. I feel like a new woman. I should have done this weeks ago.”

 

Coulson nodded, smiling at her. “You certainly have more life than I’ve seen since we met. It’s a good look on you.”

 

She smiled in return. She definitely agreed.

 

*

 

After the session, Loki took off like a bat out of hell in a direction opposite where they lived. Sif figured he didn’t want to talk to her, which was fine by her.

 

Upon arriving home, Sif stopped and stared. Her lawn--it had been cut, edged, and the grass clippings swept away. The few weeds that had started returning to her garden were gone.

 

She’d only been gone an hour; who did this? Who could accomplish this in so short a time?

 

She was beginning to think a neighborhood watch might be a good idea after all.

 

Shaking her head, Sif sternly admonished herself to be grateful. Someone took the time to do her a service, and whoever it was, she sincerely appreciate the effort. Her house looked better than it had since she moved in--even better than when Fandral and Volstagg cleaned things up. In fact, it looked professional.

 

Narrowing her eyes, Sif ran a mental tally of people she knew who could afford to hire a professional lawn care service. It was a short list, mostly populated with Odinsons, but she didn’t want to assume anything regarding anyone in that family at the moment. And anyway, it could have been someone else. Maybe Volstagg and Hildegund splurged to help her out, or knew someone from church who gave them a good deal.

 

In any event, she was going to smile and enjoy her beautiful front yard and just be grateful someone took a moment out of their busy lives to be kind to her.

  


 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> GOOGLE JAIMIE ALEXANDER WITH A PIXIE CUT. GIRL IS GORGEOUS.


	8. All These Memories I Have Are Beautiful in My Mind

For an entire week now, every day Loki came home from work he was accosted by that wretched housewife from across the street, demanding he join the neighborhood watch. Could she not see he was impeccably dressed, which indicated he worked full time and therefore lacked adequate leisure time to join in her unneeded neighborhood watch? And clearly she had moved here in the past ten years, or she would remember him as a teenager and know better than to try and engage him in community efforts.

 

But being the incompetent simpleton that she was, none of these things registered in her tiny brain, and she was once again heading his way. Damn. He needed to start coming home after dark, or align his arrival with that of her husband. As a lonely housewife, he had no doubt she would be too occupied greeting the man to pester Loki.

 

“Mr. Odinson! Mr. Odinson!” the woman called, waving a clipboard in the air. “I need to speak with you!”

 

Tucking his hand underneath his hair, Loki acted as if he was on the phone. Pointing at his invisible cell phone with his hand holding the briefcase, Loki raised his eyebrows in apology and mouthed _maybe later_ as he turned and headed inside.

 

A growl of frustration followed him; he smirked.

 

He entered the kitchen, habitually checking the window to see if Sif was outside. She usually wasn’t, especially not around the time he got home, but a man could hope.

 

Jane, hearing his entrance, exited her room and greeted him. She got home before him, now that he worked full time at Selvig & Son, a local personal injury firm. It wasn’t glamorous, like his corporate gig in New York, but he got to leave at 5 every day, and that made it more than worth it. And it was kind of nice to walk in the front door and be greeted by a pretty woman.

 

Now if he could just get a certain pixie-cut-dark-haired woman to do the greeting…

 

That hair cut. He could not get over it. He’d only seen her the once (at therapy, he thought bitterly), but he could not forget her dramatic entrance, or how she’d taken his breath away. He knew he liked short hair on women, but Sif wore it like an Amazon warrior, an image now permanently etched in his brain.

 

He wanted to see her again.

 

She was still pissed.

 

With an internal sigh, he greeted Jane. Her anger over the marriage thing had cooled since the salon visit, making home a habitable place once again.

 

“Proposition for you,” Jane said. “Darcy wants to come over for dinner, but she wants me to invite the hot guy who was cutting the lawn next door--her words.”

 

“Then do it,” Loki said, dropping his briefcase on the counter, “but count me out. I hate Fandral.”

 

“That’s his name,” Jane said, snapping her fingers. “I need to write that down. But you have to come, because I don’t have any contact information for Fandral, so you need to invite him.”

 

“Again, I don’t like him.”

 

“But you _do_ like Sif, and she’s the one who can get in contact with him. Invite her, too.”

 

Loki was of two minds of this plan: he didn’t actually dislike Fandral, as it had been too many years since high school to maintain a grudge, but he didn’t care about him, either. Sitting through dinner with the man would no doubt be insufferable, hence his desire to avoid it. Darcy was tolerable, but if she was busy making eyes at Fandral, it would double the man's ego, thereby doubling his insufferableness, and dragging Darcy down with him. Not Loki’s idea of an evening well spent.

 

On the other hand, Sif.

 

“Fine, I’ll do it,” he grumbled.

 

“Thank you,” Jane said and blew him a kiss.

 

What would be better: call, text, show up at her door, or bombard her at therapy?

 

It was an agonizing 24 hours, trying to decide which method would make Sif most likely to accept his invitation. He was so caught up in thinking the problem through, he didn’t even notice the biddy across the street trying to attract his attention regarding the neighborhood watch.

 

It occured to Loki, just after he walked through his front door, that he didn’t have to phrase it as an invitation that would result in Sif eating dinner with him. He just needed to focus on Darcy and Fandral; he was sure he could talk her into it for the betterment of her friend.

 

“You’re coming with me,” Loki said, pulling on Jane’s wrist; she offered no resistance.

 

“Where are we going?”

 

“Sif’s. I need backup, or she won’t listen to me long enough to issue an invitation.”

 

“Probably true,” Jane said.

 

They had to knock twice before Sif answered, glasses perched on her nose and a pencil tucked behind her ear. Loki was glad she was staring at the notepad in her hand and missed his visible reaction.

 

She was definitely going to have to sit beside him, or he’d spend the entire dinner staring at her.

 

“Hi!” Jane said brightly, and Sif looked up.

 

“Hi, can I help--” she cut off as she registered Loki was standing there. A sour look puckered her mouth, and it was probably only Jane’s presence preventing her from slamming the door in his face.

 

“You’ve been cordially invited to dinner with the Odinsons,” Loki said, “but conditional upon bringing Fandral. Jane wants to set him up with Darcy.”

 

Jane smacked his arm. “No, I don’t!” she said. “Darcy specifically asked that he be invited.”

 

“Set up,” he repeated, and Jane smacked him again.

 

Sif looked slightly confused. “Who’s Darcy?”

 

“My friend from the high school,” Jane explained. “You met her once? She happened to come over when Fandral and Volstagg were at your place.”

 

“Right,” Sif said. “She was the one admiring Fandral’s sweat-slicked bod.”

 

“That’s the one, though I believe she said he was the Southern Adonis.”

 

“Please, do not tell him that or there will be no living with him.”

 

Amen, Loki thought.

 

“Will you come?” Jane asked, tilting her head the tiniest fraction and angling it forward so her eyes were to their best advantage, almost giving off a subconscious look of innocence, subtle enough she couldn’t get called on for it, but overt enough Loki had yet to see it fail. He hated that look; he never had yet managed to reject it.

 

Whether it was the look or Sif was already inclined to accept, she wasted no time agreeing to get in touch with Fandral.

 

Convincing her to attend: different story.

 

“I can’t come that night,” Sif said, unapologetically shrugging.

 

“We haven’t picked a night,” Loki told her.

 

“Doesn’t matter. I’ll definitely be busy.”

 

Jane rolled her eyes. “I know you and Loki are having a thing at the moment--”

 

“No we’re not!” Sif protested too quickly.

 

“--but this is a joint invitation. If you can’t come, Fandral can’t, either.”

 

Loki didn’t know if Jane was doing this for his benefit or if she just wanted to befriend Sif, but he didn’t care. Right now she was his best friend, and if she could convince Sif to actually show up, he would happily worship at Jane’s feet.

 

Figuratively, of course. Loki Odinson bowed to no one.

 

“It will make our numbers even,” Jane said.

 

“No, it won’t.”

 

“I’ll need you to team up with me against Captain Arrogance here,” Jane shoved her thumb Loki’s way. He tried not to preen; Captain Arrogance was an excellent nickname.

 

Sif actually hesitated over that one before refusing.

 

Loki spoke up. “You can tell my mother we fed you. You know how happy that will make her.”

 

Sif scrunched her face in a half glare. “That’s a low blow, invoking your mom,” she said. “Ugh, I can’t say no to that. But do anything stupid and I’ll throw another pie at you.”

 

“It will be the evening’s entertainment,” he said dryly.

 

With invitations issued and RSVPs from everyone (Fandral enthusiastically agreed, though Sif wouldn’t say if it was because he wanted to see the inside of the Odinson house again, or if he wanted to see Darcy), Loki and Jane set about preparing for the dinner party.

 

As it turned out, despite having correlating academic interests, their idea of a dinner party vastly differed. Loki, being a son and product of Frigga Odinson, knew a dinner party was not complete without fine china, crystal goblets, five courses, and sartorial choices fit for the New York Met Gala. Jane, being a product of whatever heathen upbringing she had, was content with paper plates, fried chicken from Food Lion, and _jeans_.

 

It sparked the biggest fight they’d had to date (excluding the unfortunate marriage mishap).

 

“You might fit in in that environment,” Jane said coldly, arms crossed, “but not a single other person will. We’re all from the song _Chicken Fried--a little bit of chicken fried, cold beer on a Friday night, pair of jeans that fit just right_.”

 

“Not in this household,” Loki said for the umpteenth time as he dried the dinner dishes. “Fine china and suits, or you can hold your little soiree in the neighborhood park.”

 

“We don’t have a neighborhood park!” Jane yelled.

 

“Then I suppose you’d better rethink your meal choices.”

 

And so it went.

 

Things got so desperate, they called Frigga for arbitration. She immediately took Loki’s side (because he was right), until Jane explained her side, at which point Frigga tried to play benevolent mother-in-law and offer useless platitudes pretending Jane’s ideas weren’t an insult to civilized company. Loki snorted so hard Jane accused him of being a pig, which started a whole new argument, ending only when Frigga sharply sent them to their rooms to think about their behavior.

 

(Loki should have been offended that he, a grown man, had been sent to his room like a petulant child, but Jane also got sent to hers, and that was a victory greater than his shame.)

 

With his mother being no help, they appealed to Sif, who stared at Jane like she’d grown an extra head.

 

“It’s the Odinsons’; _of course_ you wear a little black dress and learn what a salad fork is.”

 

“Frigga isn’t even hosting this gathering!” Jane exclaimed. “She’s not even in the state! She’s in Washington, D.C.!”

 

“And the sun rises in the east,” Sif said. “What’s your point?”

 

Jane did not appreciate the smug look Loki gave her, nor the following stories of how he and Sif set aside their differences for a whole hour at therapy to complain about Jane’s lack of decency. Loki was beginning to wonder if he should recommend Jane to Coulson; the two of them could sit around and complain about him and Sif. He was sure they would find it therapeutic.

 

In the end, it was Darcy threatening to have dinner with Fandral and Sif without them that forced them to compromise (this was his one and only chance to get Sif in his house, and he was not going to squander it). There would be a strawberry salad course topped with a balsamic vinaigrette (his choice), followed by an entree of fried chicken (her choice) served on fine china (his choice). Dress code would be Not Jeans, but that was the only direction given.

 

Loki wore a suit as he was not a caveman, and Sif, last to arrive, proved she was a superior specimen of womanhood by arriving in a floral print dress that managed to set her hair to advantage. Loki had to remind himself not to stare as he let her in. “Thank goodness you didn’t adhere to Jane’s ridiculous dress code,” he said, closing the door.

 

“Your mother may not be here, but I can’t risk disappointing her,” Sif said. “I still remember the look she gave me when I showed up in pants to a Sunday dinner. I felt that disappointment for years. I was _twelve._ ”

 

Leading Sif into the formal dining room, unused since he and Jane moved in, Loki pulled up short as he took in the seating arrangement. He and Jane had spent half an hour agonizing over where to seat everywhere, even going so far as to type up plate cards, yet in the minutes since he’d answered the door, she’d moved everything around. Five minutes ago he sat between Sif and Jane, across from Tweedledee and Tweedledum. Now he was placed on the far side of Jane and Darcy, and directly across from Sif, who, not noticing his mild alarm, was taking her seat.

 

“Excuse me one moment,” he said, trying not to sprint to the kitchen as he tracked down his sister-in-law. She was plating the salads, and doing a fine job of it, but he was too irate to notice. “ _You changed the seating arrangements,”_ he hissed.

 

“I did,” she said. “I realized I needed better access to the bathroom, and Darcy should sit across the table from Fandral to optimize her staring. It will either help them fall in love, or creep him out so much he runs far, far away.”

 

“Which sits me directly across from Sif.”

 

Jane blinked her eyes. “Does it?” she said, and started taking plates to the dining room.

 

That vixen. She did this on purpose.

 

Taking the remaining plates in, Loki seated himself and tried not to notice the column of Sif’s throat as she threw her head back to laugh at whatever stupid thing Fandral said.

 

Fandral, who ignored the dress code (heathen) and wore jeans anyway, pairing them with a button down shirt, laughed at his own joke. Loki hated him.

 

“He’s so hot,” Darcy sighed dreamily from Loki’s right. He glanced at her disdainfully.

 

“Raise your standards,” he muttered, but she didn’t seem to hear him.

 

Jane said grace and they started on the salads. Immediately everyone had opinions.

 

“What am I eating?” Fandral asked, eyeing his fork like it contained a slug.

 

“I think it’s really good,” Sif said, savoring her bite. “Reminds me of something I had when Aunt Win and I went to Boston.”

 

That eased Loki’s mind somewhat as it was once again confirmed that Sif had class. He would have hated to end up with someone who thought Cracker Barrel the height of cuisine.

 

“It’s different,” Darcy said, “but I like it.”

 

“This was Loki’s pick,” Jane said, “and I have to admit he chose well.” He sat up the tiniest bit straighter; it was wonderful to be back in Jane’s good graces.

 

Better yet, Fandral, side-eyeing the women in the room, offered a dramatic sigh and forced himself to finish his plate without one word of complaint. Loki knew Jane would stab him with her fork if he mocked their guest, but internally he was doing just that. Chew on that, you brainless lump of meat.

 

“So Darcy, you and Jane know each other from work?” Sif asked.

 

“Oh yeah. Our classrooms are next door to each other and we share an office, which makes it really easy to gripe about students. Like the idiot kid today who told me evolution isn’t real because God made the earth.”

 

“Don’t knock religion,” Sif said.

 

“Oh, I’m not, but you can be religious and not an idiot. There is scientific evidence proving the theory of evolution. We have observable incidents of plants and animals adapting and evolving to survive in their climates. What we don’t have is evidence God made everything. Don’t have evidence that He didn’t, either. And it’s entirely possible He made everything _and_ set evolution in motion to further His creations. They don’t have to be mutually exclusive.”

 

“I’m pretty sure I failed high school biology,” Fandral said.

 

“I _know_ you did,” Sif said.

 

“You just needed a superior specimen to study,” Darcy said, eyeing Fandral up and down. He jutted out his chest like some sort of peacock on display; Loki rolled his eyes.

 

“Were you two in the same class?” Jane asked.

 

“Study buddies for a year,” Fandral said, nudging Sif’s shoulder. “Or we would have been, if she’d had brownies or cookies to entice me to show up.”

 

“I had brownies _and_ cookies, as per request, plus chips. But the _dip_ \--” and it was unclear if she meant actual dip or was referring to Fandral “--failed to show up.”

 

“Yes, I did get distracted,” Fandral said fondly. “Other commitments kept me away.”

 

“Like drawing obscene images on Thor’s car,” Loki said. “Mother was not happy about that.”

 

“That was you?” Sif demanded. “I had to help scrub your artwork off!”

 

“Side by side with both of the Odinson boys, spraying water at each other and laughing?” Fandral asked, wagging his eyebrows. “What a horrible punishment for you. My deepest sympathies.” Sif turned red for some reason, but did not return his comment with one of her own.

 

As Loki recalled, that incident was in between spats Sophomore year, after the dating debacle of Volstagg/Lorelei/Malekith, but before the betrayal of Thor. Unless Sif had already been crushing on Thor, there was no way Loki was the cause of her blush. If he remembered correctly, she hadn’t been speaking to him at all at that point.

 

Or was it he who wasn’t speaking to her? It was so difficult to remember the minutiae of one’s life.

 

“So when do I get to meet Tall, Blonde, and Handsome?” Darcy asked. “I’ve been assured this Thor character is easy enough on the eyes to make you forget every man you’ve ever known, but I’m beginning to wonder if he’s fictional.”

 

Jane pointed to her stomach. “I’ve got some very convincing evidence that he’s real.”

 

“Actually, all we’ve got to go on is your word in that area,” Sif said speculatively. “You claim Thor’s the father, but you’re living with his brother, who successfully managed to convince me you were married to him.”

 

“Wait, what?” Fandral asked, but everyone ignored him.

 

“She’s got a point,” Darcy said. “You and Tall, Dark, and Handsome, living all alone, eating together, sleeping under the same roof together, throwing dinner parties _together_ …”

 

Loki snorted. “You should have heard the fights over this gathering.”

 

“Because Loki’s a snob,” Jane said promptly.

 

“And you’re uncivilized,” he shot back.

 

“Hey,” Sif barked, interrupting their spat before it could begin. “Tonight we’re following Thumper’s Law of Civility.” She gave Loki a pointed look she did not direct at Jane. He rolled his eyes.

 

“Yes, mother,” he said.

 

“I would be honored to be included among Frigga’s circle, so thank you for the compliment.”

 

He rolled his eyes again, but was secretly pleased.

 

“Back to Loki and Jane being married,” Fandral said.

 

“We’re past that point,” Sif said.

 

“Oh, we are?” he said, raising his eyebrows high. “Something to announce?”

 

“Didn’t Darcy say you were hot?” Sif replied, effectively redirecting the man.

 

Gesturing with her fork, Darcy said, “I definitely did.”

 

As expected, Fandral puffed like a peacock and wholeheartedly agreed with her. Loki shot Sif an annoyed look: _this is your fault_ , and she grimaced in response: _I know_.

 

Loki escaped the ensuing _how much I bench pressed in the army_ discussion by retreating to the kitchen for serve up the main course. It was a sacrilege of the highest order, serving fried chicken on his mother’s fine china, and he felt like he was desecrating the family name with each lump of chicken he deposited. Adding coleslaw and macaroni salad to the plates only made it worse.

 

Thor, at least, would be pleased. He’d always preferred a picnic in the park with greasy finger foods to fine dining. Loki supposed that made Jane a good match for him.

 

Once the plates were prepared, it took him several minutes to comport his face to a decent measure of civility. He might disdain this entire meal, but as Frigga always said, one did not show one’s discomfort for the world to see when hosting an event. You smiled and faced the world with grace and aplomb, then complained bitterly afterward to your spouse about the miserable affair.

 

Not that he had a spouse, but Round 2 with Jane would do, or perhaps he could persuade Sif to listen to him during their next therapy session.

 

Therapy. Another thing he swore he’d never do. Amazing what a woman could talk him into doing.

 

He served the women first, himself and Fandral last. Fandral spent a moment poking at the food on his plate, shifting it around, before saying,  “This is the fanciest plate I’ve ever eaten fried chicken on.”

 

“Shut up,” Loki and Jane said simultaneously. Sif snorted into her napkin.

 

Darcy started quizzing Fandral on how he got into the army, a discussion that bored Loki so thoroughly he stopped listening before it began. Instead he took a moment to observe Sif, admiring how her hair framed her face. He knew she was aware by how intently she stared at Fandral combined with the tight line of her lips. His own lips curled in amusement.

 

He was beginning to see the wisdom in Jane seating him beside Darcy; Jane was too far away to kick him, and for Sif to do so would mean acknowledging his existence, which at the moment she appeared content to ignore.

 

A text from Jane vibrated in his pocket.

 

_Jane: stop staring at Sif. You’re making her uncomfortable._

 

_Loki: It’s a game. I’m trying to see if I can make her admit I’m sitting here. How many minutes do you predict it will take?_

 

_Jane: Making our guests uncomfortable is in bad form._

 

_Loki: You could increase Sif’s comfort by telling Fandral to shut up._

 

_Jane: She’s not irritated with him._

 

_Loki: I’d bet the family house that she is._

 

“I’m telling you,” Darcy said, “these two flirt all the time. Poor Thor’s going to be served divorce papers before he gets back.”

 

“Poor Thor,” Sif said sweetly, suddenly turning to look at Loki. “Maybe I could go out of my way to lessen the sting.”

 

“One betrayal for another,” Fandral said. “This family would never recover.”

 

“Interesting question,” Loki said. “Jane is clearly the favorite; how would an affair with me affect her standing in the family?”

 

“It wouldn’t, so long as I still have the baby,” Jane said. “You, however, would not come off so nicely.”

 

“Story of his life,” Sif muttered, and Loki kicked her under the table. She looked up at him, fire blazing in her eyes. Ah, there was his Sif.

 

“I want to know everyone’s story,” Darcy said. Pointing at Loki and Sif, she asked, “how did you two meet?”

 

“It was fate” Loki said at the same time Sif said “The clouds parted and God said, ‘I hate you, Alfalfa.’ ”

 

“You’re right, you can tell they’ve known each other since diapers,” Darcy said to Jane.

 

“Beg your pardon,” Loki said, deeply offended, “but I was toilet trained by two.”

 

“My parents had just died! Peeing in the potty wasn’t exactly a priority,” Sif said to him, equally offended.

 

“And thus the greatest love story was born,” Fandral said.

 

“Finally, worthwhile words,” Loki said overtop of Sif’s “Like hell!”

 

To his great annoyance, Fandral and Darcy fistbumped. He was beginning to wonder just who was being set up here.

 

With that in mind, Loki focused his conversation on Sif. “How is your physical therapy going?”

 

She gave him a measuring look, and he wondered if she would have responded if they were alone. “I’ve been cleared for jogging and light weights. Dr. Hogan doesn’t want me to push it. And while that’s annoying, having lived with broken ribs, I don’t want to push it, either. Breathing is nice; I highly recommend it.”

 

She took a moment to explain to Darcy about the accident, before Loki casually asked her about her work plans. She wasn’t sure yet, and with Aunt Win’s inheritance, was able to take the time to return to her chosen field. That was good; she wasn’t anxiously awaiting the day she could leave.

 

Conversation returned to Darcy and Fandral as they cooed over each other’s jobs (being a bakery model was not something to be proud of, in Loki’s opinion). Sif feigned interest for half a minute before miming gagging. Feeling similarly, Loki tilted his glass at her and rolled his eyes.

 

Sif sent the barest hint of a smile his way. Treasuring it, Loki diverted his attention before she realized what she was doing and morphed that smile into a grimace.

 

Still. All hope was not lost.

 

Sometime around dessert, Sif wanted his attention and obtained it by tapping his ankle with hers. Without looking her way, Loki trapped her foot between both of his and continued to stare at Fandral as he explained, once again, the ridiculous idea that a frog thrown in boiling water will jump out, but a frog in cold water will remain to be boiled as the water is slowly heated. Anybody with half a scientific mind didn’t need to be told how asinine the comparison was; obviously the frog would be dead on impact with the boiling water.

 

Darcy leapt into an explanation of that very thing (he did love being surrounded by scientifically-minded females), and Sif turned her energies toward escaping his grip. As he was busy pretending he had no notion of what she was doing, Loki put his efforts into not smiling.

 

Sif kicked him with her other foot. He twitched, but gave no other outward indication that he noticed, so she kicked him again, harder. He released her trapped foot and kicked her before tucking his feet underneath his chair. Picking up her spoon, Sif scooped up a bit of strawberry sherbet and launched it at him, nailing him in the cheek, just out of sight of everyone else.

 

Not to be outdone, Loki scooped up a bit of his lemon sherbet and aimed it at Sif. Unfortunately, not being as athletically inclined, he missed by a significant margin and hit Fandral’s open mouth instead. Sif hid a snicker behind her napkin while Jane disapprovingly said, “Children!”

 

“Sif started it,” Loki said promptly, flinging a second spoonful of sherbet at Sif, this time hitting her collar bone.

 

“And _he’s_ the one who wanted fine china and black ties,” Jane muttered.

 

“Oh, this is nothing,” Sif said. “You should have seen the dinner party of ‘01, when Thor and Loki were fighting over Jedi action figures and started flinging watermelon balls. We got in so much trouble Frigga grounded _me_.”

 

“If I recall correctly, you started that one, too,” Loki said.

 

Sif shrugged. “I just wanted to know if watermelon looked better with black or blonde hair.”

 

“And?” Darcy asked.

 

“Black,” Sif and Loki said together and smiled at one another.

 

That evening, Loki walked Sif to the door and led her out onto the porch, where she leaned against the porch railing. Taking a risk, Loki joined her, though he left sufficient space between them that she wouldn’t get any ideas. Unless she wanted to get ideas; then he would happily move closer.

 

“I’m glad you came,” he said. “Saved me from watching Fandral and Darcy drool all over each other.”

 

“And saved you from being chastised by Jane all evening.”

 

“It would have been mutual chastising.”

 

She huffed in agreement. Loki stole a glance at her profile; that magnificent haircut was set to advantage in the moonlight. He hoped she never grew her hair out.

 

Sif peered into the darkness. “Did I just see someone skulking along the fence line?”

 

“Nervous?” he asked. “I can walk you home.”

 

Sif rolled her eyes. “And what good will that do? Deter the bad guys with your haughty superiority?”

 

Loki shrugged. “It’s successfully kept you at bay.”

 

Silence descended, broken only by the chirping of the cicadas. It was a peaceful moment, the most peaceful they’d had since moving back home. No one was screaming, no lies were hovering between them, and his tongue was temporarily stilled, momentarily preventing any further stupidity.

 

All they needed now were rocking chairs and a long sit, and they’d make the perfect Southern couple. And then he’d have to shoot the pair of them, because if that was his future, he’d rather be dead.

 

Abruptly, Sif turned to face him. “Loki,” she started, and the seriousness of her tone told him he’d better think twice before being arrogant or sarcastic (not that it would stop him, but he’d at least think twice before proceeding). “What are we doing?”

 

“I rather thought we were standing on my front porch, but if you’re confused, I’m sure I could arrange a psychiatric evaluation.”

 

All right, fine, so he didn’t think twice. She knew what he was like.

 

Reaching over, she punched him in the shoulder. “Can you be serious for two seconds?”

 

“I tried being Sirirus for Halloween when we were fourteen, but you told me I made a terrible dog.”

 

She shoved his shoulder this time. “There are words for you, but they are not words I can say at Frigga’s house.”

 

Feeling satisfied that he’d ruffled her feathers, he made a sweeping bow indicating she was allowed to continue.

 

“I don’t trust you,” she said, which he thought was fairly obvious and had been announced to the town via rooftops. “But I also have feelings for you. And the thought of you dating someone else makes me mad enough to boil water. But I don’t want you anywhere near me at the moment. Except I do. And I know you’ve got feelings for me, but we’re going to pause this little speech of mine and you’re going to admit it out loud, without you embellishing or hiding behind Jane or saying anything even remotely stupid, or else I’m going to go home, pack my bags, and move out first thing in the morning.”

 

Well, with an ultimatum like that, Loki figured he ought to comply. “Of course I do,” he said simply.

 

“Do what?” she demanded, irritation lacing her voice.

 

“Love you.”

 

The following lengthy silence was eminently satisfying.

 

“I hate it when you take the wind out of my sails,” she muttered at length, pinching the bridge of her nose. “Again, I don’t trust you, so this is going to take time. A lot of time. And a lot of talking.”

 

“I thought that’s what the therapy was for,” he interrupted, smirking at she glared at him.

 

“We’re keeping our weekly dates with Coulson.”

 

He shouldn’t have been so excited about a therapy date, but the idea of any sort of date with Sif sent a pleasant shiver down his back.

 

“We aren’t going on real dates, and physical intimacy of any sort is strictly forbidden, but I’m staking a claim. And so help me, Loki Odinson, if you try and date anybody else in the meantime, I’m going to string you up the flagpole by your own innards and leave you to bake in the sun until your own mother won’t recognize you.”

 

“I’m going to therapy for you,” he said dryly. “Trust me, Sif, I’m not going to date anyone else.”

 

Her shoulders relaxed; he hadn’t noticed they’d been tense. He wondered just how much stress he caused her. “Goodnight, then,” she said.

 

She made to leave the porch, but he reached out and captured her hand. Bringing it to his lips, he lightly kissed her knuckles and murmured, “Good night.”

 

Yanking her hand back, Sif glared at him. “What did I _just_ say about physical intimacy?”

 

“That was intimate?” He asked innocently. “Oh, my. I suppose you’ll have to offer repeated instruction on what qualifies.”

 

With a roll of her eyes and a muttered epithet, she retreated to her home. No brigands, vagrants, or otherwise accosted her at the fence line. Pity. Would have made a great show, him swooping in to save her from the neighborhood miscreants.

 

Back in the house, Jane, Darcy and Fandral were standing around the kitchen counter, chatting about something irrelevant, but all conversation paused as six eyes turned his way.

 

Darcy said, “You’re still standing, so she didn’t castrate you.”

 

“No black eyes, either,” Fandral mused, and Loki was reminded of the numerous bruises he, Sif, and Thor had given each other over the years.

 

“We’re dating,” Loki said. “Sort of. But I’m not allowed to look at her, think about her, kiss her, hold her hand, or go out with her, or she will burn my house down.”

 

Jane nodded. “Sounds fair.”

 

He thought so, too.

 

Later that night, as he slid into bed, it occurred to Loki that he didn’t know what happened between Darcy and Fandral. With a moment’s reflection, he realized he didn’t care. He had a new game to play, with Sif finally a willing participant.

 

The evening had been a smashing success.

  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (1) For the readers not from the south: [Food Lion](https://www.foodlion.com/) is a grocery story. Fun fact: I thought Food Lion was everywhere in the country because when my family moved to Belgium, they had Food Lions. Then I grew up, moved out west for college, and discovered nobody knew what a Food Lion was. It was one of many culture shocks I experienced by moving within my own country. 
> 
> (2) [Chicken Fried](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=dKbGZwfNtDI) by the Zac Brown Band is my favorite country song of all time. Do yourself a favor and listen to it.


	9. I Heave a Little Sigh For You

Sif regretted nothing, but she also couldn’t believe she'd had the audacity to confront Loki.

 

“Am I insane?” she asked Coulson. Having desperately needed to parse out her actions, she arrived to therapy half an hour early (“We could have other appointments!” Hunter declared. “No one is _ever_ here but me,” she retorted. “In fact, I can’t figure out how you stay in business”) and laid the situation out to Coulson, who looked like a favorite uncle amused at the antics of a beloved niece.

 

She wasn’t sure she appreciated the sentiment.

 

“I fail to see a problem,” Coulson said. “You faced your fears, came to a solution both sides found acceptable, and are moving forward. There isn’t a downside here, Sif.”

 

“I basically said he can’t date me, but he also can’t date anyone else.”

 

“Not ideal, but he readily agreed, so there isn’t a problem.”

 

“Yet,” she said, “but Loki has the irritating tendency to bring things up months or even years later that you didn’t know were an issue, sparking a brand new fight you didn’t know you needed to have.”

 

Coulson shrugged. “Then have a new fight. I hear making up is the best part.”

 

She wished she had a frozen pea to throw at him.

 

Loki arrived, glorious once again in a well-fitted three-piece suit with matching green silk tie and pocket square. It should be illegal for that man to look that good. Sif was wearing real clothes again, though in her haste to spill her life story to Coulson, she’d settled for a blue cotton top paired with skinny jeans and extremely comfortable but equally ugly flip flops. She hadn’t felt frumpy until Loki strolled in looking like a god, but now she wished she’d put on more makeup than a brush of mascara.

 

Coulson and Loki greeted each other with that upward head tilt unique to men, and Coulson said, “So I hear there’s been an adjustment to your...situation.”

 

Thank goodness he hadn’t said relationship; what they had wasn’t yet worthy of the implications of that word.

 

“Sif staked a claim,” Loki said, lounging across his seat. How did he make everything he did look so attractive? Did he take lessons? Watch YouTube videos? Or was he naturally that graceful?

 

Once again she was grateful he and Jane weren’t a pair. Together they would have been too fabulous for this world. She liked to think she and Thor grounded them somewhat. Not that Thor was uneasy on the eyes (he was anything but, especially with that long-haired picture Jane had shown her), but getting him to wear anything other than athletic shorts and T-shirts made changing the earth’s orbit look like a cake walk.

 

At least, that’s the way he used to be. They really needed to catch up.

 

“And you’re all right with her claim-staking?” Coulson asked.

 

“Yes.”

 

He actually sounded sincere. Peering carefully at his face, Sif couldn’t find any hints that he meant other than what he’d said. Fancy that.

 

Catching her eye, Loki asked, “Why? Did she tell you she changed her mind?”

 

“Ask her,” Coulson said, pointing in her direction. She hated how he avoided answering direct questions.

 

“Did you—“

 

“No,” she answered promptly.

 

Coulson tapped his chin with his pen. “So if I’ve got this straight, your biggest problem is Sif’s trust issues?”

 

He made it sound like it was all her fault. There needed to be another word for “trust issues” that indicated “he lied about being married so this is all his fault.” Maybe instead of _Sif’s trust issues_ they could change it to _Loki’s fault issues._

 

“You make it sound like preparation for an earthquake,” Loki complained when she brought it up.

 

“You certainly shook up my world,” she muttered under her breath.

 

“Sif, if you have something to say, please share it with the class,” Coulson said.

 

Jutting her chin out, she said, “Interacting with Loki _is_ something of a natural disaster. You lose all sense of dignity and walk around mumbling things like _I can’t believe it’s all gone._ ”

 

“That was a horrible analogy,” Loki said.

 

“Feel free to do better.”

 

Before this could turn into yet another fight, Coulson interrupted. “You two could do trust falls.”

 

Did he really just suggest that? What was this, elementary school?

 

“Do I look like I’m ten?” Loki demanded.

 

“Plus he weighs, like, a thousand pounds,” Sif said.

 

Suddenly Loki sat up straighter, his jaw a tense line. “I do not,” he said tersely. “Kindly refrain from commenting on my appearance.”

 

Sif stared, baffled. It had been a joke. He looked like a beanpole and probably weighed like one, too. Not that she knew how much a beanpole weighed, or, for that matter, what a beanpole even was.

 

And anyway, in the height of her glory days (aka before the car accident) she could lift Loki no problem. Even now, after registering months of couch time, she could probably still lift him.

 

Boy was touchy about his looks. She frowned; New York had not done him much good.

 

“Besides trust falls being juvenile,” she said, changing the subject, “my issues aren’t whether or not he’ll catch me. He’s a liar. There’s a reason lawyer and liar sound so similar, and he chose a profession hand crafted for him.”

 

Loki’s brow creased, and he frowned at her without moving his mouth. How did he make disapproval so attractive? She really hated him sometimes.

 

“Is that truly what you think of me?” he asked defensively.

 

“Well, yes,” she said, knowing it was the wrong thing to say even as she said it.

 

He didn’t say another word the remainder of the session, and Sif worried she blew what could have been their only chance at happiness.

 

Unsure of how to proceed, Sif called Frigga that night and asked about Loki’s favorite baked good. A twenty minute consultation proved fruitless as everything Loki liked was either too fancy to make (what on the actual green earth was a _mille-feuille?_ ) or too time consuming (plum pudding took days—sometimes _weeks_ —to make? She didn’t love anybody that much), so she settled on an old college favorite of hers: Twinkie pie.

 

Making the pie crust took the longest, as she had to dust off baking skills she hadn’t utilized since Bush was president, but it was worth it when she produced a perfect flaky crust. Mixing the insides took next to no time, as she sliced the Twinkies into six pieces and carefully folded them into the wet ingredients.

 

Forty minutes later she held in her hands a mouthwatering Twinkie pie. It wasn’t standard apology fare, but since this wasn’t a standard apology (she was still unclear what he was so upset about), it was perfect.

 

Plus, if he didn’t like it, she could always eat it for him. Rule number 1 of Apology Pie: Always make something you wanted to eat in case the offended party refused the peace offering.

 

Jane let her in the front door with a confused smile. “He’s been pouting in his room all evening, ranting about lawyers and why they’re a necessary evil.”

 

Apparently he was really bent out of shape over her opinion of his profession. With a long-suffering sigh, Sif made her way to Loki’s dungeon.

 

She didn’t bother knocking, though she probably should have, considering he could have been in any state of undress (which she was _not_ hoping to get a peek of, she firmly told herself). He was sitting on his queen bed, an upgrade from the twin he used in high school, laptop perched atop his knees as he was reading something. Pulling two spoons from her back pocket (being prepared, not presumptuous, she insisted to herself), she held one out to him and said, “Truce?”

 

He looked up. “Lawyers do good,” he said. “Like that incident with NBC and GM. Who do you think filed the lawsuit against NBC for misrepresenting the General Motors truck?”

 

“Am I supposed to know what that means?”

 

“Just answer the question, Sif.”

 

“Lawyers,” she said, trying not to sound petulant.

 

“Thurgood Marshall—a lawyer, I might point out—took on _Brown v. Board of Education_ , ending segregation.”

 

“True, and—“

 

“Not to mention the myriad medical malpractice suits when doctors do something stupid like leave a sponge inside of you.”

 

“Okay, and I get it, and—“

 

“Plus your lawyers got the guy who hit you to pay for your medical expenses. Lawyers: useful.”

 

“Okay, okay, I get it!” Sif said, holding up her spoons in defeat. “Not all lawyers all evil.”

 

“I may not be a paragon of virtue, Sif, but I’m not the lying villain you portrayed me as today.”

 

“We are literally in a fight because you lied to me about being married.”

 

“Perhaps not my finest moment, but also not my only moment.”

 

Shoving the pie in his face, Sif said, “Which is why I brought apology pie. I didn’t realize you were that upset about it, and I felt bad, so I made this for you.”

 

Loki sniffed, peering suspiciously at the pie she held. “That’s not standard Apology Pie,” he said.

 

She shrugged. “I was unaware the level of my sin, so I made something I like and was hoping we could share it.” She paused a moment, then added, “Have you been sitting in your room all day googling lawyers doing good?”

 

He gave her a flat look. “I went to law school, so no,” he said.

 

“So if you already had all these cases stored in your brain, why didn’t you bring it up in therapy?”

 

He gave her a measured look before answering. “You told me to practice Thumper’s Law of Civility, so I did. Anything I said would have been laced with venom.”

 

Loki controlling his tongue. Would wonders never cease?

 

Accepting the offered spoon, Loki cut into the pie and took a bite. He chewed slowly, testing out the taste. Sif, confident it was delicious beyond all reason, dug in with her own spoon. Mmm, this stuff was magnificent. She really needed to make it more often.

 

“Am I eating Twinkies?” Loki asked, and she couldn’t tell if he was pleased or disgusted.

 

“Classic Twinkie pie,” she said, taking another bite. “I made this stuff all the time back in college. Great comfort food.”

 

Loki took another experimental bite. “Thor would love this,” he commented after swallowing. Sif tried to pretend she wasn’t mesmerized by his every move. “You should make it when he comes back.”

 

Planning future events was Loki speak for _apology accepted._ He even went so far as to take a third bite before retiring his spoon. “You are free to eat the rest,” he said.

 

Gladly.

 

Perching the pie on her knee as she settled onto his bed, Sif looked around his room. Last time she’d been in here, it was covered in pamphlets for every Ivy League school and several pro/con lists trying to determine which one was best. The far wall had been a shrine to the Hogwarts house Slytherin. Loki had always sympathized with Draco Malfoy, and Sif couldn’t think of a symbol better suited for her friend than a serpent.

 

She, of course, was a Gryffindor. They never quite decided if Thor was a Hufflepuff or Gryffindor, and used to spend hours debating the merits of each house. Thor, who often got bored of the discussion, proclaimed himself a Huffledor. When she and Loki really went at it, he declared himself a muggle and left them alone to argue while he practiced football or watched a movie.

 

There was still a Slytherin pennant hanging from the corner, but the rest of the shrine had been replaced with a classical piece of art Sif had seen before but couldn’t name. One wall held all his degrees and accolades. The Harvard Law diploma was so large she wondered if it was compensating for something.

 

“This place has changed,” she commented.

 

Loki quirked a brow at her. “What do you expect? We were teenagers last time you were in here.”

 

“My room hasn’t changed at all. I still have that stuffed Hello Kitty doll on my bed Aunt Win gave me when I turned eleven.”

 

He smiled lightly. “Complete with sharpie mustache?”

 

She rolled her eyes. “I was so mad at you when you did that.”

 

“It looked better, more nefarious.”

 

It had started a full on prank war, the kind that got both of them grounded for a month. Yet it had never occurred to her to try and wash the mustache off.

 

“I sleep in Aunt Win’s room now,” she told him. “Bed’s bigger, and...and I miss her.”

 

This was the first time she’d said that out loud since the funeral. Finding her throat a bit thick, Sif stuffed another spoonful of Twinkie pie in her mouth.

 

Loki gave her a moment to collect herself by uttering a boring retelling of a case study from law school. By the time he finished droning on, her moment of grief had passed.

 

From an outsider’s perspective she was sure it looked weird, but Loki wasn’t good with silence and she preferred to be ignored when having feelings. It worked for them.

 

“I can’t believe you eat that,” he said, gesturing at her pie.

 

“I can’t believe you gave up after three bites,” she said, stuffing another one in her mouth.

 

“I have a figure to maintain,” he said.

 

Swallowing, she said, “Yeah, about that. You were super touchy today when I said you weighed a thousand pounds. Considering you’re a beanpole, I don’t understand why.”

 

He leveled a look at her, and Sif knew she’d touched a landmine. Hoping to head off the impending fight, she said, “You’ve got to know you’re incredibly hot.”

 

Whatever he’d been about to say died on his lips, replaced by a smirk. Urg, that may have been a mistake to say. “You think I’m hot, do you?” he asked, suddenly looking much the predator.

 

“I’m eating Twinkie Pie,” she announced, “as do all the best looking people around, so I guess you aren’t that high on the attractive list. Sorry.”

 

“Too late. You can’t unsay it.”

 

“But I can never say it again.” He opened his mouth to reply. Seeing her chance, she shoved a spoonful of pie in, and gloated when he choked.

 

Unfortunately for her constitution, he managed to make choking look like a GQ-worthy event. How did Frigga and Odin manage to produce two boys too beautiful for this world? And with Jane being as gorgeous as she was, the next generation of Odinsons was going to be too beautiful to ever find an equally attractive lover. Poor kid was either going to have to settle or remain single forever.

 

If she ever mingled her DNA with Loki’s, she hoped she would bring a dose of normalcy to the gene pool. Her kids might actually end up with pimples. ‘Course, then they would have to move far away from Thor’s brood so her kids wouldn’t feel inferior.

 

Unless they all took after their father and were stunningly beautiful. Then she’d have to spend the remainder of her natural life poking holes in their oversized egos. It would be a full time job.

 

“If we ever have kids,” she said, “you may teach them how to gel their hair to perfection, but I get full control over behavior.”

 

That stupid smirk was back in place. She should have shoved more pie in his mouth. “Noted.”

 

*

 

The woman, Bee Johnson, was at Sif's door again.

 

“Hi!” she said, entirely too perky and chipper for seven in the morning. Sif tried to blink the sleep from her eyes. She was feeling the effects of her Twinkie hangover; clearly she wasn’t 18 anymore.

 

“Can I help you?” Sif asked in between yawns. If this was about that stupid neighborhood watch—

 

“The neighborhood watch—“

 

“Oh my gosh, go away!” Sif shouted, slamming the door.

 

She stared at the door, partially appalled at her behavior. She was spending way too much time with Loki.

 

Opening it again, Bee Johnson was still standing there, her perfectly plucked brows raised in surprise and her perfectly lipsticked mouth forming an ‘O’. Sif leaned against the doorframe and stifled another yawn. “Sorry, that was rude,” she said. “I’d blame it on the early hour, but I’m pretty sure my boyf...er, this rude guy I know is rubbing off on me.”

 

“If you mean the one next door, then I would say yes,” Mrs. Johnson said. Ugh. It was worse than she thought if the neighbor lady could match her behavior to Loki’s.

 

Maybe Jane would give them courtesy lessons? Sif could propose it as insurance against future family fights. Surely Jane would see the benefit of that.

 

“I appreciate your vigilance with this whole watch thing,” Sif said, “but I really don’t care. I’m single, I literally own my own dojo—or I did before I sold it—and if somebody comes creeping along my fence, I’ll just smack him and send him to his room, because I’m sure it’ll be Loki. This is a safe neighborhood. Find some other pet project, like building a park or petitioning cranky lawyers to tell the truth once in a while.”

 

“Thank you for your input,” Mrs. Johnson said. “I sincerely hope you’re right and we never have a need for a neighborhood watch, but I’d rather be safe than sorry.”

 

Though Sif would have uttered those words laced in sarcasm, Bee Johnson sounded sincere. Sif felt sorry for her; what kind of family life did she have that bothering people at seven am on a Friday was preferable to staying at home?

 

Well aware that her hair looked like a bird’s nest, Sif opened her door as wide as it would go. “Come in,” she said, “and we’ll have a sweet tea.”

 

The woman looked surprised, but she followed Sif into the kitchen and took a seat at the counter. Sif was glad she’d taken the time to clean up the Twinkie pie mess while it was baking. She didn’t need a perfect homemaker judging her day-old dirty dishes.

 

Or her week old dirty dishes, for that matter. She needed to get back to cleaning things up; Aunt Win would be horrified.

 

“So, Miz Johnson.”

 

“Please, call me Bee,” the woman interrupted, in such a civil and genteel manner that Sif rubbed her eyes just to make sure she wasn’t talking to Frigga.

 

“Bee, then,” she said, grabbing two cups and pulling Aunt Win’s Sweet Tea from the fridge. “How long have you been in the neighborhood?”

 

“My husband and I moved in just before you did,” she said, accepting the floral print glass. “We would have come over to help, but you didn’t have many things, and had movers to boot. We did try and stop by to welcome you to the neighborhood.”

 

Sif had no memory of that, but her early days back at home had been spent in a pain med-induced fog. Her own parents could have come back to life, knocked on the door, and made her supper, and she never would have noticed.

 

“I was doped up something awful back then,” Sif said. “Except for when I was waiting on takeout. I made sure to space out my meds for food.”

 

“Ah,” Bee said delicately. “Did you...rely heavily on them?” It took Sif a moment to realize the woman was asking if she’d been addicted. She wasn’t quite sure what to say. “I only ask,” Bee hastened to add, “because I’ve seen you walk into Coulson’s practice.”

 

Hah! Finally! Someone else who had Coulson as a therapist, because there was no way to know the taxidermy building housed a therapy practice without having been inside.

 

The only question was, had Bee intentionally dropped that hint and was hoping Sif would ask after her lackluster marriage, or had it been an accident, and she’d be embarrassed to be questioned about it?

 

“I suffered from a bunch of different problems, but addiction was not one of them,” Sif said. “I was recuperating from a car accident.”

 

“My dear, if I’d known, I’d have brought over a casserole,” Bee was quick to assure her. Maybe Volstagg was right, and Sif should have shown up to church once in a while. Car accident casserole surely would have been better for her than all that Heimdall’s.

 

“No need to fret. I was basically a hermit. So,” she said, angling to change the subject, “what brought you to Vanaheim?”

 

“Work. My husband is in the private sector, and had a job opportunity we couldn’t pass up.”

 

Sif liked the sound of that: _we_ couldn’t pass up. She wondered what it would be like to say those words.

 

And immediately banished the thought. As much as she liked him, she wasn’t ready to commit full time to Loki yet. That whole trust thing was a hurdle to be...hurdled.

 

There had to be a better way to say that.

 

“I actually grew up in this house,” Sif told her. “I left for college and then moved to Atlanta to work, but came home after the accident. Haven’t decided yet if I’m staying or not.”

 

“You’ve been here for quite a while,” Bee said, and Sif was forced to admit she was right.

 

“Recuperating is hard work,” she said, though now that she was past the initial recovery, she could undergo physical therapy elsewhere.

 

But Coulson was here, and it was so hard to find a good therapist.

 

Not that she’d ever looked. But Coulson already knew about Loki; Sif didn’t fancy initiating someone else into that minefield. And anyway, Loki was here… and Sif didn’t like acknowledging this, but he was probably the only thing keeping her here. Patching things up was hard enough with him next door; she couldn’t imagine the difficulty of trying to do it long distance. Might as well give up and accept they’d never be okay at that point.

 

She didn’t like the melancholy accompanying that thought.

 

Attempting to pry--not Sif’s skill; she was _much_ better at the direct approach--she asked, “So your husband leaves for work early in the morning?”

 

“Oh yes,” Bee said, sipping her sweet tea. “He’s gone before the sun gets up and often doesn’t get back until the sun goes down. Work keeps him extremely busy.”

 

Sif tried not to wince; a man with a wife who looked like Bee, yet chose to spend all his time elsewhere, sounded like he was engaged in _other_ activities. And from the overbright smile the women was wearing, Sif suspected she knew.

 

No wonder she was so involved in the neighborhood watch idea. If you kept yourself busy enough, it was easy to forget the things eating you alive.

 

“Come over for dinner tomorrow,” Sif said suddenly.

 

Bee’s mouth formed an _O_ of surprise. “Thank you,” she said, “but my husband won’t be available, and I--”

 

“I’m not inviting your husband, I’m inviting you,” Sif said firmly. “Come at six. You don’t need to bring anything, but since I know you will anyway, bring cookies or lemonade or something.”

 

“I couldn’t--”

 

“Loki’s a pretty mean cook, so between the two of us, we’ll whip up something delectable, and you’ll regret it for the rest of your life if you don’t show up.”

 

At Loki’s name, Bee’s smile turned slightly nefarious, and Sif momentarily regretting bringing up her….friend. Surely this woman couldn’t have designs on him…?

 

Then Sif remembered Loki and Bee had actually interacted, and her worry dissipated. No one who met the sour-faced loner could possibly be interested in him. She was the only one stupid enough to take on that personality full time.

 

“I’ll be here,” Bee said.

 

Convincing Loki proved to be much harder.

 

“She’s an interfering busybody who approaches people who’ve brushed her off before,” Loki said that evening. They were in his kitchen, and he was leaning against the counter in dark jeans and a t-shirt, making Sif’s pulse race. Loki was holding his glass of sweet tea like a beer bottle, and Sif wondered what he would be doing with his time if she wasn’t with him.

 

“She’s a lonely housewife whose husband may be cheating on her,” Sif said. “She needs friends.”

 

“She can find her own friends.”

 

“And she did! She found us.”

 

“Correction: she found you. Leave me out of this.”

 

“Doing a good deed won’t kill you, I promise. Think of it as pro bono work.”

 

“I hate pro bono work.”

 

That didn’t surprise Sif.

 

“I’ll let you take me on a real date.”

 

He snorted. “Why would I want to take you on a date I had to barter for? Either you go because you want to, or we don’t go at all.”

 

While she usually liked this particular aspect of his personality, today she was irritated he wasn’t a typical man who could be persuaded by such things.

 

“Please?”

 

“No.”

 

Plucking an ice cube out of her drink, Sif flung it at him. Surprisingly, he caught it and plopped it in his own glass. Sif was tempted to stick her tongue out at him, but Jane was grading papers at the table, and Sif didn’t want her witnessing such childish behavior.

 

“Why are you so dead set against meeting new people?” she grumbled.

 

“I’ve already met Queen Busybody.”

 

“You know,” Jane piped up from the table, “you should say yes simply because this is the first time Sif’s asked you to do anything with her. Deposit something into her bank of goodwill, because you’re going to need it next time you piss her off.”

 

“Yeah, what she said.”

 

Loki rolled his eyes. “Depositing counterfeit money is completely ineffective.”

 

Sif was beginning to wonder if it was Bee he was avoiding, or her. But no, that was unfair. He came to _therapy_ with her, for goodness’ sake; she was sure if she’d invited him over one-on-one he would have jumped at the opportunity. He must really dislike Bee. Well, too bad; Sif fully intended to befriend the woman, and he was just going to have to deal with it.

 

Turning to face Jane, Sif said, “Since Loki’s being an ass about it, do you want to join us? We’ll make a girls’ night of it.”

 

Jane looked up from her papers, her whole face lit in a smile. “Absolutely!” she said. “We’ll leave the grouch here home alone for the evening.”

 

“Praise be,” Loki said.

 

*

 

Jane showed up alone, as promised, and Sif tried not to feel disappointed that Loki hadn’t changed his mind.

 

Kicking off her shoes, Jane said, “I was going to bring a bottle of wine for the evening, but since I can’t drink it and Loki reminded me you don’t do alcohol, I brought fresh strawberries instead.”

 

“Ooh,” Sif said, taking them from Jane and inhaling their heavenly scent. “This is a better choice by far.”

 

Jane held up a grocery bag. “I also brought the means to make cream.”

 

“Marry me,” Sif said promptly.

 

Jane pointed to her stomach. “I’m a two-for-one deal.”

 

“Worth it.”

 

Bee arrived promptly at six, carrying a mouthwatering peach cobbler. Sif was tempted to skip dinner and go straight to dessert. “If the Rapture happens before we get to dessert, I will personally protest going to Heaven,” Sif said.

 

“I’ll join you,” Bee said, setting the cobbler on the counter. “Where’s your Loki?”

 

Sif tried not to blush at _your Loki_ , but judging from the Cheshire Cat smile Jane was giving her, wasn’t too successful. “He bowed out due to being a donkey’s rear end, so I brought his sister-in-law instead. She’s better company anyway.”

 

“We’ve met,” Jane said, smiling at Bee. “I think I’m the only one who has responded favorably to her neighborhood watch.”

 

Conversation was kept light and fun until partway through dinner when Jane asked what Bee’s husband did for work. The woman clammed right up. Jane and Sif shared a look of alarm, and proceeded to figuratively poke at the woman until she would respond.

 

Finally, tears in her eyes, Bee wailed, “I don’t know! He just leaves in the morning and comes back at night, and there’s money in the bank account so I don’t push it but I don't know what he does!”

 

Sif was starting to feel grateful for Loki. He was looking like a rockstar in comparison to Mr. Johnson.

 

“Maybe he...works...for the government?” Jane offered, but Bee vehemently shook her head.

 

“He’s not that intelligent,” she said, blinking back the tears before they streaked her mascara. “He’s not an idiot, mind you, but he would not qualify for intelligence work.”

 

“There are other kinds of government work,” Sif said helpfully.

 

“But not ones that require secrecy,” Bee said mournfully.

 

There was a moment of silence. Sif, whose longest relationship had been with a Twinkie box, was at a loss and didn’t know what to say. Thank goodness for Jane, married woman and possessor of a level head.

 

“But he does come home,” Jane said firmly, breaking the silence. Bee looked up at her, eyes doe-like. “Every night, yes?” Bee nodded. “If he had a dangerous or super secret job, he wouldn’t return home every night, and if his attentions were elsewhere, he wouldn’t come home every night.”

 

“Really?” Bee said earnestly. “You honestly think so?”

 

“My husband told me you’ve got a wandering eye if you don’t come home at night. Even being on a business trip, you always make sure to call your wife.”

 

Sif had a moment of jealousy; no one called her or came home to her. She wondered what it was like to have someone who cared.

 

She could find out, of course, if she would let Loki in, but she wasn’t ready for that yet. She’d hate to find out he only liked her because he didn’t have her; that was a level of heartbreak she wasn’t ready to navigate just yet.

 

_He did say he loved you_ , her brain reminded her, but she shoved the thought aside. She wasn’t ready to analyze that yet, either.

 

“Your husband doesn’t come home every night,” Bee pointed out, and Sif was reminded she really was the busybody Loki called her. Woman needed a hobby so she would stop spying on her neighbors. “Does he call you every night?”

 

“Different situation,” Jane said. “My husband is in the army and deployed across seas right now. He calls or emails every chance he gets, but time zones and military missions sometimes make it difficult.”

 

“What about you?” Bee asked Sif, turning to face her. “Does your boyfriend call you regularly?”

 

A pleasant tingle danced along Sif’s spine. It was the first time someone had called Loki her boyfriend. All the same, she snorted. “Definitely not,” she said, “because I told him if he did I’d gut him with a rusty spoon.” At Bee’s horrified expression, Sif added, “We’re not...dating, exactly. We’re busy dancing around each other. Exclusively dancing around each other. We’ve got a backlog of issues to wade through first.”

 

“Don’t try to understand them,” Jane said fondly. “They’re a complicated mess.”

 

It definitely sounded less than romantic when Jane said it that way.

 

“So what you’re saying is I have nothing to worry about,” Bee said.

 

“I don’t know,” Sif said. “I’m terrible at relationship advice and Jane is pregnant. You probably shouldn’t listen to us.”

 

“Pregnancy does not preclude me from giving good advice!”

 

“You did choose to live with someone who lied about being married to you.”

 

“That’s his problem, not mine.”

 

“Wait, what?” Bee interrupted.

 

“What I’m saying,” Sif said, “is you’ve got friends now, so focus on that, because it’s a good thing.”

 

“Friends?” Bee asked hopefully.

 

“Yes, please focus on that,” Jane said. “Sif needs all the friends she can get. I don’t think this girl ever leaves her house.”

 

Excluding therapy, Jane wasn’t really wrong, and it rankled. Forget telling Bee she needed new hobbies; Sif needed to find some hobbies for herself.

 

After dessert, Bee excused herself to go home, citing that it was just easier if she was back before her husband got home. Sif and Jane didn’t comment until they’d bid the woman farewell, but once the door was closed and Bee had successfully crossed the street, Sif turned to Jane and said, “Do you get the feeling her husband is controlling? Won’t tell her where he is or what he’s doing, expects her home always when he returns?”

 

“The thought had crossed my mind,” Jane said, “but I don’t want to be presumptuous. We don’t know enough to fling about accusations.”

 

But they did know enough to start keeping an eye on Bee. It was looking like Sif had found her first new hobby: spy on her neighbor. She sighed; it was for a good cause, but made her feel like the lowest of gossips.

 

She should just introduce Bee to Volstagg’s family. They’d keep her so busy and distracted she’d forget all about her husbandly troubles and the stupid neighborhood watch.

 

“I’m going home; want to come say hi to Loki?”

 

Sif was tempted to say no, but all this talk of husbands was making her feel lonely. Grabbing a movie off her shelf, she followed Jane home, bringing the leftover cobbler Bee had left behind.

 

Loki was in the den, reading over something that looked tedious and boring. “I’m here to save you from yourself,” she announced.

 

“Sif,” he said. “This is three days in a row you’ve searched out my company. Are you starting to warm up to me?”

 

She thought qualifying therapy as _searching him out_ was stretching it a bit, but didn’t want to get into a fight at this moment, so she ignored him. “We’re watching a chick flick,” she informed him. “No, you don’t get a say in the movie choice, but if you don’t say anything stupid between now and when it starts, I’ll let you put your arm around my shoulders.”

 

“As my lady commands,” he said drily, but the slight lifting of the corners of his mouth told her he was pleased.

 

And if an arm around her shoulders turned into arms wrapped around each other with her head nestled on his shoulder, well, he did have to suffer through a chick flick. She was willing to make it worth his while.

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (1) For anyone (like me) who didn’t know, a beanpole is a stick that is used to support bean plants. There’s nothing like writing idioms and common expressions to make me realize I know what they mean, but don’t know what they are. 
> 
> (2) [Twinkie Pie](https://bellyfull.net/2014/02/18/twinkie-pie/). I’ve never made it, because I don’t cook, but it looks kind of fabulous and I really want to try it. 
> 
> (3) [NBC vs GM](https://www.nytimes.com/1993/02/10/us/nbc-settles-truck-crash-lawsuit-saying-test-was-inappropriate.html) \- my friend told me this case was about lawyers serving their own interests, so she told me to find a better example, like lawyers taking on harassment in the workplace or protecting victims of domestic abuse. While I agree those are better examples of doing good, I argue that lawyers protecting the interests of their clients is precisely what Loki would approve of, so in his mind, it is good.


	10. Every No Turns Into Maybe

Sif stared hard at Coulson, trying to make sure she’d heard correctly.

 

Loki cancelled?

 

As in he wasn’t coming?

 

“Something came up at work,” Coulson said helpfully.

 

Loki had a _job_? Since when?

 

It was a good thing. He was employed. He left the house daily (something she was still working to achieve). He was a productive member of society. He could afford life. It suddenly explained why he was wearing suits everywhere.

 

But it felt like a complete and utter betrayal that he had not informed her of this improvement. It felt like a lie.

 

“Has anyone told you your face is particularly expressive when you’re upset with Loki?” Coulson asked her. “You’re pretty stoic on other topics, but not him.”

 

“I shouldn’t be upset about this, right?” she said. “That’s completely irrational of me.”

 

“Yes, it is.”

 

“And yet I still am.”

 

“So talk about it.”

 

But she didn’t know what to say. Everything felt stupid and nothing expressed her feelings, and even though Coulson knew all her deepest, darkest secrets when it came to Loki Odinson, she didn’t want to try and wade through this pool of emotion with him.

 

Still. The guy who caused her accident was paying for her therapy, so she might as well make use of it. Maybe she could sort this out if she talked long enough. It usually worked for Loki. “How long has this been going on?” she asked, finally relaxing into her chair. Back in the day, before Loki joined her, she used to rotate which chair she sat in, but now that they shared therapy, she always sat in the same seat. Since when did he affect her routine?

 

“Weeks,” Coulson said. “I didn’t realize you were unaware. Is this a secret I should have kept?”

 

She shook her head. “If Loki wanted it a secret, he wouldn’t have said the word _job_ to you.”

 

But he could have said it to her.

 

“I don’t know why I’m upset,” Sif said, burying her head in her arms.

 

“You’re feeling hurt,” Coulson noted, and she once again appreciated the unemotional way he spoke. Having him heap _pity_ or _understanding_ upon her would have stung. “You didn’t know, and even though I’d guess it’s just a matter of circumstance, you feel like he lied to you. You’re particularly sensitive to Loki lying, given recent events, and so it hurts.”

 

She peeked at him through her arms. “I hate how well you know me.”

 

“Tell me about your weekend.” She looked quizzically at him, so he explained, “You need a moment to process, so let’s talk about something else. We’ll come back to this when you’re ready.”

 

He definitely knew too much. If this was a spy thriller or action flick, this is when she’d declare something ridiculous like “you know too much” (she was super original) and swear to end him. Instead, since this was real life, she told him about her dinner with Bee, though she kept her suspicions about Bee’s loser husband to herself. She didn’t like to make allegations without proper evidence.

 

She’d only seen Bee from a distance since then, and only just long enough to wave hello. Whatever it was Mr. Johnson did kept him out of Sif’s line of sight. She had yet to catch him going to work or coming home, making Sif wonder if she’d imagined seeing the man before.

 

It shouldn’t be this hard to spot a neighbor. With a home as big as his and such a wonderful wife waiting around, he should have been more invested in his home life. And he shouldn’t be leaving his wife behind.

 

Everything snapped into place, and Sif broke off mid-sentence in her description of Bee’s delicious peach cobbler. “Oh crap,” she said. “I figured out why I’m mad.” Coulson gestured her on. “It feels like he’s winning the get-your-life-back-together game, and I don’t like being left behind.”

 

Coulson peered at her over his glasses. “Explain.”

 

“He’s got a job, he’s on good terms with his family, he’s satisfied with the direction his romantic life is going, his bedroom’s actually been updated since adolescence, and he looks like he could be a GQ model.

 

“All I’ve got going for me is a mustachioed Hello Kitty doll and the fact that I can walk more than fifty feet without falling down.”

 

“Don’t be so hard on yourself,” Coulson said. “You’re recovering from a major ordeal, and making great strides at it.”

 

“Am I?” she demanded. “Because I feel like Hogun’s moving me along at the pace of a snail, and I haven’t questioned him once. I should be pushing myself more.”

 

“You should trust the professional. You’ll severely regret it if you re-injure yourself and have to start over from scratch.”

 

Maybe. He had a point. “But I also won’t talk about any of the things that really bother me, unless you kidnap me and lock me in a car going over 50 miles an hour.” Coulson’s confused face reminded her she hadn’t shared that moment with him, but she made no move to bring him up to speed. At the time she’d severely resented Loki for making her talk about the accident, but now it was a precious memory, a reminder that he really did care about her. Private moments like that were too personal to be shared.

 

“I really like him,” she confessed softly, “and I don’t want him to realize he can do so much better than Vanaheim, Georgia, and take off, leaving me behind for real.”

 

Coulson gave her a thoughtful look, taking his time before answering. “Do you think he feels the same way about you?” Sif looked on in confusion. “By all accounts, you were quite the successful martial artist in Atlanta. Might he be worried you intend to return to your life there?”

 

The thought had never occurred to Sif as she had no immediate plans to return to Atlanta. That had been the vague goal at one point, but ever since the Apology Pie incident, she hadn’t thought about going back once.

 

Because going back meant leaving him behind, and she’d done that once before.

 

“He’s an idiot if he’s worried about that,” she said, though there was no heat in her voice.

 

“Even idiots need assurance once in a while,” Coulson said.

 

*

 

Standing in front of Sif’s door, Loki wondered how many times he was going to have to knock before she let him in.

 

Sitting down on the porch, he was determined to outwait her. She had to let him in eventually; surely she couldn’t be this mad about skipping therapy. Work took priority, as it provided his paycheck.

 

Briefly, he wondered if he should offer to contribute to the therapy bills, but this was Sif’s idea, not his, so she could bear the financial burden.

 

Speaking of, her lawn needed an update. Pulling out his phone, he shot a quick text to the landscaper, asking after his schedule. He preferred having them come while Sif was at therapy so she couldn’t ask any unwanted questions, but after cuddling on the couch last week, Loki was confident he could talk her into being somewhere else if the workmen came some other time.

 

After twenty minutes of sitting, it finally occurred to Loki that Sif might not be at home. Strange. He couldn’t remember the last time she had left of her own volition.

 

His phone dinged.

 

_Landscaper: friday good for u, bro?_

 

_Loki: Preferably in the evening._

 

_Landscaper: i got an opening at six_

 

_Landscaper: u good?_

 

_Loki: Yes._

 

_Landscaper: u no we could avoid this hassle if youd just schedule us regular_

 

Loki supposed that was true, but as he was still unsure of the longevity of his relationship with Sif, he didn’t want to schedule anything in case he needed to abruptly cancel. The men at Lawn & Order had a steep cancellation fee.

 

_Loki: Just be here._

 

Back at his house, Jane was facetiming with Thor. Odd; it must be the middle of the night where he was. Sitting beside his sister-in-law on the couch, Loki eavesdropped on their conversation. He tried to stay out of view, but Jane hooked an arm around his and pulled him over. “Loki’s back from wooing Sif,” Jane said. “He wasn’t gone for very long, which means he was unsuccessful.”

 

“She wasn’t at home,” Loki said, trying to pull himself away but without much force. He didn’t want to accidentally damage the baby.

 

“Wasn’t at home, or was hiding from you?” Thor asked, sounding pleased with himself.

 

Loki rolled his eyes. “I don’t know what lies your wife has told you, but Sif finds my charm irresistible.”

 

“I know she does,” Thor said. “Never understood it, but she’s liked you as long as she’s known you.”

 

“I know that’s not true.”

 

“Maybe,” Thor admitted, “but she definitely liked you in high school. Never did figure out why you dated Sigyn instead.”

 

Loki found this insulting, that his own brother, himself an oblivious oaf, could tell Sif had been interested while Loki hadn’t the faintest inkling that she cared.

 

“Shouldn’t you be asleep?” he changed the subject. “It’s the middle of the night there.”

 

“Just got back from a mission. Between sleep and Jane, I choose Jane.”

 

“A stupid choice, really,” Jane said, though the fondness in her eyes belied her words. “I’ll still be here tomorrow, but your sleep could be interrupted at any point.”

 

Feeling the moment was becoming too intimate, Loki excused himself and retreated to his room. Flopping down on his bed, he stared up at the ceiling. He used to love being in here, his guaranteed sanctuary where he could always be alone, but he was increasingly finding he’d rather be with Sif.

 

The thought irritated him, especially since she was still holding him at arm’s length. What would it take to get her over her insecurities? He’d already apologized, and he was making good on their therapy appointments, no matter how stupid he found them. With her restrictions on his thoughts and actions, it was difficult to do much else lest she blow her top at him. Not that she was great at following the rules, as proven last weekend.

 

Perhaps he could try the movie ploy again. Were she anyone but herself, he’d attempt to watch a horror film so she’d have to huddle in his arms for protection. Sif being Sif, however, he knew they’d spend the entire time dissecting the idiocy of the characters and analyzing the choices of the villain. Usually it was an enjoyable pastime, but he wanted a movie that would involve more physical contact than that.

 

Another chick flick might do the trick, but it wasn’t his genre, and he’d already watched one this year.

 

Or maybe he ought to buy a motorcycle and offer her a ride. Then she’d have to hold him close in order to stay on.

 

But given her recent car trauma, he doubted he was getting her on a moving vehicle that didn’t involve seatbelts.

 

Too bad he couldn’t talk her into a drink. He loosened up with a bit of alcohol in him, and he bet she would, too. He sighed; knowing where he wanted this relationship to go, he’d donated his liquor collection to Darcy. Sometimes he wished he hadn’t.

 

Pulling out his phone, he shot her a quick text.

 

_Loki: Where are you?_

 

Then, to prove he wasn’t pining away after some woman, he called his mother.

 

“Loki!” Frigga said, delight in her voice. “It’s been a while since I’ve heard from you.”

 

Given the content of their last conversation, he doubted she was surprised. “Mother. I’m calling to check in.”

 

“How’s Sif?” Frigga asked. “Jane tells me she doesn’t completely hate you anymore.”

 

Loki gave a long-suffering sigh. “Why is it every time I call, all you can ask about is the women I know? You talk to Jane far more frequently than I, and I know you’ve spoken to Sif more than once.”

 

“Yes, but I want to hear your take on the matter.”

 

His take was he was trying to act like his personal orbit didn’t center on someone other than himself, but those were dangerous words to utter to one’s mother. He didn’t need her planning a wedding while Sif still treated him like he ran over her favorite dog. “Sif hasn’t inserted anything sharp into my person lately, so she’s doing well.”

 

Frigga sighed. “I thought things were going well. She asked me what your favorite dessert was, and I assumed it was so she could make it.”

 

Favorite dessert…? How on earth did his confectionary preferences result in Twinkie pie? “Whatever you told her misled her greatly,” he said. “I believe she tried to kill me with subpar ingredients. I actually ate a Twinkie.”

 

He knew the exact face Frigga was making, for it was mirrored on his own face. “Everyone has to have a flaw,” she said at length, which he knew was the most unkind thing she’d ever say about Sif.

 

At least his mother approved of his romantic choice, though if Frigga’s behavior toward Jane was any indication, Loki ought to tread carefully lest he lose his mother’s favor in place of Sif.

 

“How’s Father?” he asked, more out of duty than actual interest.

 

“He’s well. You could call him, you know.”

 

“I called him five years ago. What more could he want?”

 

He could feel Frigga’s gentle disapproval through the phone. “Jane calls him,” she said.

 

“Father likes Jane better than me anyway. I’m sure he prefers talking to her.”

 

It wasn’t exactly a fair statement to make; _everyone_ preferred talking to Jane. How this outsider had swooped in and managed to charm his entire family, Loki still did not know.

 

His phone dinged. Pulling it away from his ear, Loki saw he had a text from Sif. Offering excuses he was sure Frigga saw through, Loki quickly ended their conversation and opened Sif’s message.

 

_Sif: Out_

 

_Loki: So I gathered when you didn’t answer the door._

 

_Sif: I won’t be home until late, so don’t bother trying again._

 

Loki stared down at his phone. That sounded like she was mad at him, all right. He sighed.

 

_Loki: Your irritation is misplaced. I’m allowed to focus on work; it pays the bills, after all._

 

_Sif: I’m not mad that you were at work_

 

But she didn’t deny that she was mad.

 

_Loki: Then what perceived sin have I committed now?_

 

_Sif: I am not having this conversation over text_

 

Fine, if that’s how she wanted it.

 

_Loki: Then find me when you’re done being childish._

 

That was not going to go over well, but Loki was too annoyed to care. Setting his phone to silent, he grabbed a book and settled in to read.

 

*

 

It was after ten o’clock when he heard the front door slam, followed by pounding footsteps on the stairs. Moments later, his bedroom door was flung open and an irate Sif stormed in. Loki kept his eyes trained on his book, calmly turning the page.

 

“Loki,” she snapped. He held up one finger, finishing his paragraph before carefully replacing his bookmark and setting the book in his lap. He looked at her with boredom.

 

“Yes?” he asked unemotionally, making sure she knew he did not care. It worked; he could see her hackles rise.

 

“Why didn’t you answer your phone?” she asked shortly.

 

He trailed his eyes to the foot of his bed where he’d kicked the offending mobile device some time ago. “Probably because it was on silent.”

 

He could feel her anger growing. “And you called _me_ childish,” she snapped, crossing her arms.

 

He lifted an eyebrow. “You said you didn’t want to discuss things over text,” he said mildly, in a tone precisely calculated to piss her off.

 

It was fascinating watching her emotions flit across her face, from irritation to anger to murder. He caught the exact moment she decided she’d rather kill him than deal with him, and she opened her mouth to start in on the task, but closed it with an audible click as she closed her eyes and inhaled through her nose, visibly calming herself down.

 

Who was this foreign creature, bent on discussing things rationally rather than explosively? That was not the Sif he knew.

 

“Do not shut me out,” she said calmly, opening her eyes.

 

Well, with such a reasonable request, what was he to do but comply? “Very well,” he said. “But in return, you are not to shut me out, either.”

 

Her ire flared, but another measured breath returned her equanimity. Fascinating. He liked this version of her. “Very well,” she said, with just a hint of mockery. His lips curled up.

 

Setting his book on the bedside table, Loki patted the bed next to him. She did take a seat, but at the foot of the bed rather than beside him. It was probably for the best; most of their fights ended in some form of physical aggression, whether it be broken bones (childhood) or pie to the face (a scant few weeks ago).

 

“You are mad at me for not coming to therapy, and I’m displeased with you for being mad at me,” he said, succinctly summing up the situation.

 

Sif stared at him before answering. “Yes,” she said shortly.

 

“Enlighten me.”

 

Irritation flitted across her face again, but once more she calmed herself before speaking. “I’m upset you have a job.”

 

He blinked once, letting the words settle in his mind. “Pardon me?” was all he said, though he wanted to yell at her that she was being irrational and stupid and for the love of fried chicken why was being employed a negative thing?

 

She crossed her arms. “Since when do you have a job?”

 

Had he really not told her? Surely it must have come out at some point. Why did she think he wore suits to therapy every week? Dashing though he looked in one, a three-piece suit was never as comfortable as a pair of jeans that fit properly. “ _That’s_ what’s got your goat?”

 

Her eyebrows flew up, and not in surprise. “I have all but thrown myself at you, and you don’t have the decency to tell me you’re employed?” Her face morphed as some idea came to her, and once again he was struck at how well her short hair framed her face. “Is _that_ why you were touchy about me insulting lawyers?”

 

“First,” he said, “you and I have very different definitions of _throwing yourself_ at someone.”

 

“Semantics,” she said, waving her hand dismissively.

 

“No, it’s not. Telling me to keep my distance, but don’t I dare get a wandering eye, is the exact opposite of throwing yourself at someone.”

 

“You agreed to it,” she said defensively.

 

“I did, but you are still not throwing yourself at me.”

 

“Good grief, move on already.”

 

“Secondly, if you were unaware I was employed, what was your explanation for my sudden penchant for suits?”

 

“How was I supposed to know?”

 

But the look on her face belied her words; she’d clearly had thoughts, and was too embarrassed to share them. Now this was an avenue he was willing to explore. Leaning forward, he put on his best light smoulder--not enough to be obvious, but just enough to distract her into answering. “You were concerned with my overinflated ego?” he asked, knowing it wasn’t the correct answer.

 

“What? No. I go out of my way to never care about your ego.”

 

“Worried I joined Fandral is his window modeling?” He leaned farther forward, watching her swallow nervously.

 

“You’d kill yourself before working with Fandral,” she said, one hand reaching up to tuck imaginary hair behind her ear.

 

He leaned forward again, maintaining eye contact. “Undressing me with your eyes?”

 

A blush raced across her cheeks. “Absolutely not!” she said fervently enough he believed her, though now the idea had been implanted, he could tell she was trying hard not to think about it. “I wondered if you’d started attending funerals as a professional mourner.”

 

There was a tone of truth in her words, but not enough of one to convince him that was all she’d thought. “That’s all?” he said lightly, leaning back against the headboard.

 

She narrowed her eyes and pursed her lips, a charming combination with her flushed skin. “You know it’s not,” she said accusingly. He shrugged.

 

“Keep your secrets, Sif Schelder,” he said, reaching for his book.

 

With an exaggerated groan, Sif said, “Fine, whatever. I wondered if you were trying to impress me.”

 

Bingo.

 

He hadn’t been, of course; he’d been dressing for work. Now that the idea had been presented, however, he wondered if he could convince her his sartorial choices were dual-purposed.

 

She was giving him the eye, and not the one that said _scrumptious_ , so he opted to not engage in yet another deception at the moment.

 

Resting his hands on the leather-bound book in his lap, Loki stated, “You’re upset with me for being employed.”

 

With a roll of her eyes, Sif turned around and flopped down on his bedspread. It was Loki’s turn to swallow as he pretended he was unaffected by having her sprawled all over his bed. “Obviously not,” she said shortly. “Jobs are good. I’m mad that you didn’t tell me you had one.”

 

Loki briefly weighed his choices before opting for the shortcut to terminating her anger. “I apologize. I did not realize you didn’t know.”

 

It was fun watching the fight bleed out of her, dissipating the tension in the room. There might be something to this apologizing strategy after all. He appeared quite the gentleman, but still felt like the winner. Apologizing: Loki Approved--but only when directed towards Sif.

 

“Are you still mad?” she asked, tilting her head back to look at him upside down.

 

“Mildly irritated,” he said, “though it’s slowly passing.”

 

Sif sighed, rolling over to cradle her chin in her hands. “Is it just me, or is fighting the only thing we do?”

 

“Given how we met, it shouldn’t be surprising.”

 

“It’s been over twenty years. You can’t still be mad about the Kool-Aid incident.”

 

“And yet.”

 

She rolled her eyes, but kept her thoughts to herself.

 

He let the silence settle a moment before he disturbed the peace with his next query. Tapping his fingers gently along the spine of his book, Loki wondered what his mother would think if she knew adult Sif was lying on his bed. She’s probably be torn between disapproval and pleasure that they might finally move towards marriage and the ten grandbabies she was hoping for.

 

That number had been said as a joke, but the joke had been repeated often enough he wondered if Frigga meant it. Thank goodness Thor and Jane were starting on the next generation, giving him a reprieve from pointed looks and dramatic lonely sighs.

 

Sif nudged his foot. “What are you thinking about?”

 

Babies, he thought, an amused smirk on his lips. He didn’t think she’d want to hear that. Schooling his features to neutral, he asked, “Where were you tonight?”

 

“With Volstagg. I made him go to the gym with me.” Loki debated feigning hurt that she hadn’t invited him, but if he did that, she might actually invite him next time. His distaste for public gyms aside, he knew she was working hard to return to her former level of fitness, which meant she’d eventually want to spar. He’d been hit by her enough in his youth to know he did not want to volunteer to do it in adulthood. Volstagg, roughly the size of a small mountain, was a better partner for her.

 

“Do I have to worry about him calling me, demanding I treat you better?”

 

She looked guilty. “Er…”

 

Reaching over, he patted her head like a beloved dog. “Fear not, little Sif; I can fight my own battles.”

 

She batted his hand away, annoyance in the gesture. “You wouldn’t have battles to fight if you’d just keep me in the loop,” she groused.

 

He had no response that wouldn’t incite a new fight, so he settled for patting her head again. She smacked his hand away, twice as hard this time. He winced; definitely not going to the gym with her.

 

Asking after her gym excursion, he half listened as she described various machines she’d tried and weight amounts she was working towards. She used words like _dumbbell_ and _squats_ , and he murmured appropriate supportive noises, giving her the same amount of attention she’d given him when describing his law case study last week.

 

They really needed to find common interests, he mused.

 

When she finished her recitation, she barely paused before saying, “I’m not moving to Atlanta.”

 

“What?” he asked, wondering what brought this up.

 

“Coulson told me I should say that.”

 

“What?” he repeated, though he thought he understood what she was saying.

 

“I’m not going back to Atlanta--I’m staying here. And I just thought you should know that.”

 

The corners of his mouth lifted. “Is this the part where I tell you I’m not returning to New York?”

 

Sif huffed, flipping back over. “I should have known better than to say something,” she muttered. “You don’t take anything seriously.”

 

He reached to pat her head again, but changed his mind at the last moment and carded his fingers through her beautifully short hair instead. Ah, now this he could get behind doing every day. “I take you very seriously,” he said, though he could tell she didn’t believe him.

 

Catching his hand, she pulled it down and laced her fingers with his. It forced Loki to adjust positions so his arm wasn’t being ripped from his body, but if she was willing to hold his hand, he’d adjust earth’s gravity just to ensure she didn’t stop.

 

“I’m trying,” she said, losing him once again with her transition.

 

“Trying to break all your rules?” he asked, gently shaking their entwined hands. She tried to pull hers away, but he didn’t let go. “Because if so, you are free to try on a regular basis.”

 

She rolled her eyes, but stopped trying to escape. “Trying to get better,” she clarified, momentarily confusing him because he thought she healed from the accident. “You can’t be the only one moving forward.”

 

Ah. She meant progressing from _couch potato_ to _productive member of society_.

 

“Obviously,” he said, “so long as you progressing doesn’t involve you picking up Aunt Win’s profession. I draw the line there.”

 

She pinched his hand and Loki yelped, yanking it back from her grip. “Hey. If I want to write trashy romance novels, I get to,” she said.

 

“Quivering mounds? _Really?_ ”

 

“Not her finest moment, but then again, her bank account says otherwise.”

 

Loki couldn’t argue with that.

 

“We’re joining the neighborhood watch,” Sif said suddenly.

 

Now that was going too far. There were a lot of things he would do for Sif, including but not limited to lying, attending therapy, and allowing pies to be thrown in his face. But joining the neighborhood watch? With that insufferable housewife? “Have you lost your marbles?” he demanded.

 

“Bee needs a project, and this is what she’s chosen. We’re going to support her like good friends.”

 

“Might I remind you I am not her friend?”

 

“But I am, so through the transitive property, you are, too.”

 

So she’d learned something in high school after all, even if the mathematics property was being ill used. “Absolutely not.”

 

Sitting upright, Sif faced him and clasped his hands in hers, her eyes staring soulfully into his. This tactic was not going to work, not matter how hot he thought she was. “Please?” she asked softly, pulling him forward by his hands until they were almost nose to nose.

 

“It will be a cold day in hell--”

 

She cut him off by surging forward and pressing her lips to his. The effect was immediate; he forgot what they’d been disagreeing about as he got lost in her touch. He’d fantasized about kissing Sif since high school, and now that it was finally happening, he was not going to mess it up by being distracted over irritating neighbors.

 

The kiss didn’t last long, but Sif’s hands still managed to end up in his hair and his arms were wrapped around her. When she pulled back, they were both breathing hard and he imagined he was just as flushed as she was. “Please?” she asked again.

 

“Not on your life.”

 

She kissed him again, swift and hard. “Loki.”

 

“No.”

 

Another kiss. “Do it for me.”

 

He kissed her this time, slow and meaningful. “It will cost you,” he murmured.

 

“Haven’t you heard? I’m rich now.” He huffed a laugh, and she dropped another quick kiss. “I’ll give you two free passes on therapy.”

 

He’d been angling to retain kissing privileges, but this was better. “Five.”

 

“Two,” she said firmly.

 

“Four.”

 

“Two.”

 

“Three or I’m walking.”

 

Sif pursed her lips thoughtfully, then nodded. “Acceptable. But I want advanced notice when you back out on me.”

 

“What do you qualify as advanced?”

 

“Call me, not Coulson.”

 

Deal struck, they shook on it. Sif escaped his grasp, running a hand through her hair to fix it. He was sure his looked much worse, but he left the fruits of her labors on display. “You aren’t very good at following your rules,” he told her, smirking as she glared over her shoulder at him.

 

“They’re your rules, not mine,” she said. “I’m not the one needing guidance on interacting with other people.”

 

Looking up at his hair, Loki said, “Maybe you should be.”

 

Sif flushed and excused herself.

 

Falling back on his pillows, Loki folded his arms underneath his head, a very satisfied smirk on his face. Not how he had expected that fight to go, but he wasn’t complaining, not one bit.

 

*

 

Sif didn’t get much sleep that night.

 

She hadn’t meant to kiss Loki, but he’d been sitting there, looking so cantankerous. Really, she was performing a service, saving him from himself. And if that service happened to benefit her, well, wasn’t that the best kind of service?

 

Idly tapping her lips, Sif remembered the soft feel of his mouth on hers.

 

That kiss had only been about thirteen years in the making, and she was having a hard time convincing her mind not to dwell on it. Loki was right; she was terrible at following the rules. She didn’t want to be kissing him yet--there was still that whole trust thing they were working on.

 

But he’d apologized so easily…

 

Shaking her head furiously, Sif grabbed a pillow and tried to suffocate herself with it. If she was dead, she wouldn’t have to deal with feelings.

 

Self-preservation kicked in and she tossed the pillow aside, gasping for air, and _no_ , she was _not_ thinking about making out with him until she gasped for air--

 

Turning over, Sif screamed into her mattress.

 

By the time morning arrived and her alarm went off, she’d slept for maybe two hours. Squinting at the red numbers on her alarm clock, Sif considered turning it off and sleeping ‘til noon. But no, part of her newfound resolve to be a better human being instead of a better sofa spud meant getting up and doing something with her life.

 

But she wasn’t a perfect person, so she hit snooze instead.

 

Then she hit it four more times.

 

As her alarm went off yet again, Sif hit the offending clock and muttered, “I’m up, I’m up…”

 

Two cups of coffee, a donut, and a shower later, Sif was just sitting down to plan out the next week when her phone went off. It was a restricted number. Curious, Sif answered. “Hello?”

 

A tinny female voice answered. “Hello, is this Miss Sif Schelder?”

 

“Yes?”

 

“Please hold for Senator Odinson.”

 

There was something unnerving about having a senator call you; Sif felt like a naughty child caught in the midst of mischief, and now Uncle Sam was coming to punish her for it. The fact that she knew Odin didn’t lessen this feeling at all.

 

A hard click preceded three seconds of elevator music before Loki’s father picked up the phone. “Sif?”

 

She suddenly felt six again and like she was about to get in trouble for eating the pudding before dinner. “Yes, sir?”

 

“Sif, my dear, it’s good to hear from you,” Odin said, as if he wasn’t the one making the phone call. “Frigga tells me you’ve moved back into to Win’s house and have reconnected with Loki.”

 

If this was a matchmaking phone call….actually, it wouldn’t matter if it was. Sif was already busy matchmaking herself. “Yes, sir. I was with your son just last night.”

 

“Good, good. Is he doing well?”

 

Sif sighed. Loki loved his father, but hadn’t always gotten along with the man. She thought him becoming a lawyer would have helped strengthen that bond, as Odin had been saying Loki should go to law school for years, but it was looking like that hadn’t made much of a difference. “Has he not called you since moving home?” she asked.

 

“We’ve spoken,” Odin said, and Sif could tell it had been a while. She sighed again; maybe instead of kissing Loki, she ought to talk him into calling his parents every now and again. “Tell me, my dear, is he healthy? Full of vigor? Or is he still hiding in the basement?”

 

Odin sounded distracted, like he wasn’t really listening to the answer, just making small talk. Sif’s forehead creased; what was he really trying to get at? “He’s well,” she said slowly, wondering if that was the right thing to say. “Working, eating, pestering me.”

 

“Good, good,” Odin said. “He always excelled at bothering you.”

 

That was a little too true.

 

“Is there something you wanted, sir?” she asked.

 

“Just keeping tabs on my boys. I find it more effective to talk to the womenfolk. You always know more, and are better at ferreting out problems.”

 

Part of Sif was elated that, despite her weird relationship with Loki, she was considered part of the Odinson womenfolk. Another part of her worried what kind of problems Odin was worried about. Loki didn’t have many things going poorly, especially now that he’d confessed to his lie and was making good ( _making out_ her mind substituted, and she blushed) with her.

 

“Is there a particular problem you’re worried about?” she asked.

 

“You’d tell me if there was one, wouldn’t you?”

 

Surprised, Sif answered, “Only if it was relevant to you, sir.”

 

There was a moment of silence, and Sif worried she’d just offended a senator, but then Odin laughed. “You are a good match for him, aren’t you?” he said, amused, and Sif blushed anew.

 

“We’ll see about that,” she muttered, and Odin laughed.

 

“I’ll let you get going about your day,” he said. “Tell my son I say hello, and do let me know if there’s anything amiss. Being related to a senator isn’t always rainbows and roses.”

 

He said his goodbyes and hung up, leaving Sif to stare at her phone. What was that about? Had someone threatened Odin’s family? And if so, why tell her and not Loki? Not that he’d actually told her anything, so if this was some sort of warning system, it wasn’t very effective.

 

Shaking her head, Sif sent a text to Loki letting him know his father had called, please call him back sometime. It felt like a very wifely thing to do. As that realization hit, Sif buried her head in her arms and groaned. Maybe she needed a set of rules to govern her behavior, because she was definitely moving too fast.

 

Loki sent a text in reply.

 

_Loki: I’ll call him back if I can get out of this neighborhood watch thing._

 

_Sif: or you’ll do both_

 

_Loki: Clearly your field of study did not include a course on negotiation._

 

_Sif: We are negotiating. you gave one option, i sent one in return_

 

_Loki: Fine. I’ll call him and go to your ridiculous watch, and in exchange you’ll go out with me tonight._

 

_Loki: Dinner. 5:30._

 

She had clearly said no dates when they agreed to be...whatever it was they were. Then again, she’d also said no kissing. Given how thoroughly she’d tossed the rulebook out the window, she figured he was allowed to, as well.

 

A thrill of anticipation danced up her spine as she responded.

 

_Sif: Deal. but i’m picking the restaurant_

 

_Loki: *thumbs up*_

 

Sif turned off her phone and smiled.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it's late; for whatever reason, AO3 wouldn't let me post, but we finally got the problem figured out.


	11. In the Front Porch Light

When she was eleven, Sif got mad at Loki for being an irritating know-it-all, the male version of Hermione Granger, and vowed vengeance on his soul. Thor was also angry at Loki due to some incident involving a snake--she never did get the full story--so they banded together, determined to cause Loki as much suffering as he’d caused them.

 

Declaring war, they combined all their army men toys and set up a warzone everywhere Loki went, from trip wires made out of yarn to dumping too much salt in his food to poking him every time they walked past to straight up pelting him with the army men.

 

Loki, determined not to get the adults involved, suffered through their physical onslaught for three weeks before he snapped and retaliated.

 

It all culminated in a fistfight in the Odinsons’ living room, where Sif popped him one on the nose and got blood all over Frigga’s couch, carpet, and brand new paint job. Brave little creature that she was, Sif ran home and hid in her closet until Aunt Win found her and marched her back apologize to Loki and Frigga.

 

It was close to twenty years ago, but Sif still remembered the dread gnawing at her stomach on the walk over, because she’d known in her soul that Frigga was going to ban her from playing with Thor and Loki and Sif would have to live the remainder of her life a friendless loser who besmirched the house of Frigga.

 

Which was a very long way of saying that as the hours passed, nerves started eating Sif from the inside as her date with Loki approached, reminding her entirely too much of that summer afternoon.

 

Frigga had been furious, though with all three of them, not just Sif, and made them scrub the blood out of every surface it touched. Loki had been incensed; as the injured party, he didn’t think he should be held responsible, but Frigga was wise enough to know that any problem involving the three of them was caused by all three of them.

 

At least this time around Frigga wouldn’t be angry; in fact, she’d be delighted. And if the date was a disaster, Frigga would still know both Sif and Loki were at fault.

 

Pacing around her bedroom, Sif was desperately wishing for a friend to tell her what to wear. Jane was her only female friend these days, and she was at work. Maybe. Sif wasn’t sure when the high school got out or how long Jane stayed doing teacher-y things, but she didn’t want to bother Jane at work. And anyway, Jane lived with Loki. That didn’t actually mean anything, but in Sif’s head she was assigning it Great Meaning that Jane was on Loki’s side and anything they said or did would get back to him.

 

Since, you know, picking out a dress to wear was absolutely top secret.

 

Flopping down on her bed, Sif stared at the ceiling and invoked her dead aunt. “Aunt Win, tell me what to do,” she moaned. No response.

 

Getting dressed wasn’t supposed to be this hard. She always put in a little extra effort for a date, but this wasn’t just any date. This was the first time she and _Loki_ would be on a date. He was going to be impeccably dressed as he was picking her up straight from work, meaning three-piece suit. Sif had to match that.

 

Worse, it was the first time they’d be in public together. They had a bad habit of fighting every time they were together, which was what made the _public_ bit so terrible. If they made a scene in her favorite semi-nice restaurant and were banned from ever returning, she’d never forgive him (obviously it would be entirely his fault; she couldn’t possibly be culpable). But by golly, if they were going to be kicked out, they’d look like movie stars while doing it.

 

At least she didn’t have to worry about her hair; pixie cuts were her new favorite thing and she was never going back.

 

A knock on the door chilled her blood. Was he here already? She wasn’t even dressed! This disastrous date was already starting off on the worst possible foot!

 

With a quick shake of her head, Sif reminded herself it was only 4:30 and she still had an hour. Hurrying downstairs, she threw open the door to find Bee standing there, plate of muffins in hand.

 

“Hi!” Bee said, full of too much cheer, but Sif didn’t mind because standing here in front of her was her life saver.

 

“Bee Johnson, you beautiful creature,” Sif said, grabbing her by the wrist and pulling her in. “God sent you to me, didn’t He? He knew I was drowning in a pit of despair and sent me an angel!”

 

“An angel bearing muffins,” Bee said, slightly confused. “I came by--”

 

“I do not care,” Sif said, grabbing the muffins and setting them on the counter before dragging Bee upstairs. “I am having a crisis and you are going to solve it.” Bee dutifully followed Sif to her bedroom until she was standing in front of the open closet, staring at the four dresses Sif owned. “Which one do I wear?” Sif demanded. “My future happiness might depend on this choice.”

 

Good friend that she was, Bee didn’t ask why, contemplating the choices.

 

Option 1: the floral number Sif had worn to Loki’s and Jane’s dinner party. It was obviously not the right choice since he’d seen it recently, but it was the most flattering dress she owned, and being set to an advantage might outweigh the fact that he’d already seen her wearing it.

 

Option 2: a stunning purple number, draped over one shoulder that hit just above her knees. It was beautiful and made her feel beautiful. But Loki hated purple.

 

Option 3: her come hither dress--aaaand with a name like that, it was not happening.

 

Removing it from the lineup, Bee tried to protest, but Sif said, “Absolutely not.”

 

New Option 3: the little black dress. It had a sweetheart neckline with a sheer lace sleeve reaching her elbow. The length was somewhere between above-the-knee and mid-thigh.

 

“So you’re basically telling me you’ve got two options,” Bee said, removing the floral dress to sit beside the come hither dress. “Why is this even a choice? Wear the black.”

 

“But am I being too obvious?” Sif asked, reaching out to touch the material. “I feel like black says _committed_ and _take me, I’m yours_.”

 

“That’s what _that_ dress says,” Bee said, pointing to the rejected come hither dress. “This one says you’re classy and can match whatever he’s wearing, but you don’t care so much that you went to the effort of matching colors and accessories.”

 

Black was also Loki’s preferred color, the real reason she was hesitating. She didn’t want him to think she favored him or anything, because kissing him on his bed certainly hadn’t already sent that message.

 

Thrusting the dress at her, Bee said, “Just wear the black.”

 

Once Sif changed, they spent several minutes selecting demure jewelry to accent but not dominate the outfit. Shoes were a no-brainer; Sif, despite all her bones being healed, was afraid of wearing heels and re-injuring herself, so she’d tossed everything that wasn’t flat, leaving her without many options.

 

After modeling ballet flats and sandals, it occurred to her that Bee had come over with a purpose. “Sorry, I kind of bulldozed right over you when you knocked. Did you want something?”

 

“Ballet flats,” Bee said, returning the sandals to the closet. “I was going to ask your opinion on holding the Watch meetings at my house, and how much food I should make. I brought the muffins over for a taste test.”

 

“If it tastes anything like your cobbler, then the muffins are a yes. By the way, I got Mr. Cranky Pants himself to agree to join your neighborhood watch.”

 

Bee squinted a moment before her eyes widened. “The guy from next door? Seriously? How did you swing that?”

 

It suddenly occurred to Sif that she hadn’t mentioned who she was getting dressed for. “Um,” she said, gesturing down at her dress. “I’m going out with him.”

 

Bee’s twinkling eyes matched her suggestive smirk as she said, “Going out as in you’re going on one date with him, or going out as in you two are dating?”

 

“That…has a complicated response.” Sitting on the edge of her bed, Sif pondered just how much to tell her new friend. The Loki situation was complicated, convoluted, had twenty-five years of history attached to it, and was not easily summed up in the little time they had. “I guess yes might be a good response.”

 

“I sense a story here,” Bee said.

 

“You sense years of therapy waiting to happen,” Sif muttered, then wondered if she’d said too much. Going to therapy was one thing; admitting it to anyone who didn’t have the last name of Odinson was quite another. Hurrying to hide the remark, she said, “We’ll sit down sometime and I’ll tell you the condensed version.”

 

“What if I want the full version?”

 

“Honey, you ain’t got that kind of time.”

 

A firm knock from the front door brought all Sif’s butterflies rushing back, and she felt mildly ill. She could cancel, right? It’s not like she needed a date with Loki to know how she felt about him. She already had years of experience.

 

“Are you sure you want to go out with him?” Bee asked, concern touching her eyes. “You look like you’re seconds away from puking.”

 

“I should not be this nervous,” Sif said. “I witnessed him going through his squeaky voice phase.”

 

Bee gave her a calculating look, then said, “He grew up hot, though.”

 

Yes, yes he did. And for that reason alone Sif should stand up and march out of here on Loki’s arm, because when would she ever get the chance again to go on a date with someone as gorgeous as him? Thor was already married, after all.

 

Squaring her shoulders, Sif stood. “Let’s go,” she said, determination keeping her upright.

 

Downstairs, the front door opened to reveal an impeccably dressed Loki. He wasn’t wearing a three-piece suit as Sif had predicted, but dark slacks, a matching blazer, and a tieless white button-up shirt with the top button undone. Sif may have forgone her come hither dress, but Loki had definitely brought his come hither game.

 

Turning around, she said, “Change of plans. I can’t do this.”

 

Bee grabbed Sif by the shoulders and turned her back around. “You are just as hot as he is,” Bee said firmly. That was a false statement; if Sif doused herself in lighter fluid and lit herself on fire, she still would not be as hot as Loki.

 

“Well, a close second, maybe,” Loki said, that insufferable smirk gracing his lips. His words did what Bee’s pep talk had failed to do and reminded Sif that physical attractiveness did not actually make one likeable.

 

“I forgot what an ass you are,” she said pushing him out the front door and locking it behind Bee.

 

“Really?” he said. “I thought you had it tattooed on your brain.”

 

The normality of their interactions calmed Sif’s racing heart, and she banished the last of the butterflies. It was just Loki, after all, the boy she’d once squirted with blue Kool-Aid and called Frosty for years. They’d gone through puberty together; nerves had no place here.

 

Taking her hand, Loki kissed her knuckles while maintaining eye contact and said, “Ready?”

 

Now her heart was racing for an entirely different reason. The smirk curling his lips told her he knew exactly what sort of effect he had on her.

 

With a request for Sif to call her tomorrow, Bee made her excuses, leaving the pair of them alone.

 

“I hope you had that woman over to talk her out of her neighborhood watch,” Loki said as he led her to his car.

 

“Sure,” Sif said. “That is precisely what we were doing.” She let Loki open her door for her, sliding in and buckling her seatbelt. She considered locking him out, but as he had the key, that wouldn’t be very effective. Not to mention it would be extremely childish. And yet, the urge was strong.

 

As Loki slid into his seat, Sif told him, “I regress in maturity when I’m with you.”

 

“Naturally it’s all my fault,” he said with just a touch of sarcasm.

 

“It couldn’t possibly be mine,” she replied.

 

Eyeing her out of the corner of his eye as he started driving, Loki said, “You look stunning.”

 

She hated it when he was sincere; it took the wind right out of her sails. Worse, his comment required a return compliment, and if she told him what she thought of him, she wasn’t sure they’d make it to the restaurant still looking put together.

 

This was a lot easier when she was still angry at him.

 

“What prompted you to ask me out?” she asked. “Because last weekend you told me you weren’t going to bargain for a date.”

 

Loki shrugged. “I was going to ask anyway; I simply used the extra leverage to convince you to say yes.”

 

Sif scowled, mildly annoyed that it had worked.

 

“If you wear that expression into the restaurant, people are going to think I kidnapped you.”

 

“You’ve done it before,” she pointed out.

 

“And I’m not above doing it again, but that is not currently the case.”

 

No, indeed. They were currently on a date because she was weak and seemed to be magnetically attracted to this man. Sneaking a glance at him, it wasn’t hard to remember why.

 

The restaurant wasn’t very crowded, so they didn’t have to wait to be seated. Loki pulled out her chair, and Sif tried to remember if he’d always been this way and she hadn’t noticed, or if he’d picked it up with age. The thought snuck in that he might be putting on a show to impress her, but she dismissed it. Even if he was, wasn’t that half the point of a date? You had to put on your best manners somewhere, and quite frankly, Loki acting like a gentleman was extremely attractive.

 

Maybe she should tell him to do something rude just so she’d regain her balance before she did something stupid like propose. It was way too soon for that by any metric. _Remember your trust issues. Remember your trust issues!_

 

“I didn’t even say anything, yet you went from pleasant to looking like I killed your dog in the blink of an eye,” Loki commented. “That is some skill I have.”

 

Not knowing what to say, Sif hid behind her menu. Coulson was right; her face was too expressive where Loki was concerned. She needed to practice in front of a mirror how to keep her thoughts to herself. Really, that was a course they should have had in college: How to Look Like You’re Not Constantly Thinking About Ways to Dismember Loki Odinson. It would have been hugely popular amongst the female crowd.

 

Fleetingly she wondered just how many girlfriends he’d had since high school, but that was definitely not a question that was going to keep her sane and neutral.

 

Dropping her menu, Sif clasped her hands together. “Ground rules for tonight,” she said.

 

Loki raised an eyebrow. Ah, no, she was _not_ going to react to that, no matter how good it made him look. “Are these rules we have to actually follow, or rules we’re going to follow as well as we’re following your ultimatum?”

 

God bless Loki Odinson. He was the best cold shower a girl could ask for. “I am capable of keeping my word,” she snapped.

 

“Mm-hmm,” he said, steepling his fingers. “Do tell, Sif dear; what rules am I being subjected to now?”

 

Holding up a finger, she said, “One: no fighting. If we get banned from this restaurant, I will break up with you and move to France.”

 

Loki looked amused. “I think we can make a passable effort.”

 

That was probably as good as she was going to get. And she was not going to dwell on the fact that in order to break up, they’d first have to be dating, which they weren’t, even though they were. Loki, blessedly, didn’t comment on it.

 

Holding up a second finger, Sif said, “Two. Absolutely no comments on my hair.”

 

Loki peered at her. “You do know I find your hair enchanting, yes?”

 

No, she had not known that, as all he’d ever said about her short hair was that it was a disgrace. Now that he was staring at her like he meant what he said, it occurred to her she hadn’t allowed him to have an opinion since her hair was styled. Well. “In that case, you may absolutely tell me my hair is magnificent.”

 

He smiled at her in a way that made her pulse race. “Your hair is striking,” he murmured.

 

“New number two,” she said hurriedly. “Stop looking at me like that!”

 

“As the lady wishes,” he said, picking up his menu and blocking his face from her line of sight. She rolled her eyes.

 

“Turd,” she muttered.

 

“Mm?”

 

“Number three!” she said cheerfully. “We are not mentioning my accident, therapy, your lie, or anything in the past that makes either of us cringe. Tonight we’re covering new territory.”

 

“Is that possible after knowing each other for twenty-five years?”

 

“We spent the last ten barely seeing each other, so yes, I think it is.”

 

Loki set his menu down, his face back to normal. Sif almost wished it wasn’t.

 

“Four,” Loki said. Sif almost asked what made him think he was allowed to create rules, but she was extremely glad she didn’t when he followed it up with, “Assuming we don’t break the first rule, I get to kiss you goodnight when I drop you off.”

 

She considered the benefit of ending the date right now and heading straight home, because that sounded like a lovely idea, but she shook her head. _Patience,_ she told herself. _Good things come to those who wait. Like taking 45 minutes to kiss goodnight._ Pretending her face wasn’t suddenly on fire, Sif said, “Excellent! Let’s order!”

 

Loki’s knowing eyes danced with mirth, but he said nothing as he turned to his menu.

 

A server came to take their orders. Sif chose a medium rare steak, while Loki went with the mushroom ravioli.

 

“May I recommend a wine to pair with your meals?” the server asked as she tucked her order pad into her apron.

 

“We’ll pass on the wine,” Loki said.

 

Sif looked at him. “You don’t have to do that,” she said. “I know you like a fine wine.”

 

Loki shook his head. “I don’t want one.”

 

He was lying. Everything about Loki said he was a connoisseur of pairing wines with foods, and though Sif didn’t approve, she didn’t want him to change who he was just because of her. “It’s fine,” she told him. “Go ahead and order.”

 

He declined again, and the waitress excused herself to place their orders. Loki made a fine show of observing his silverware while Sif looked on in consternation. “Loki,” she said, and he looked at her like she was about to deliver a weather report. “Just because I’ve got alcohol issues doesn’t mean you have to refrain from drinking.”

 

His gaze sharpened as he focused in on her, steepling his fingers once again. “I’m only going to say this once, so listen well,” he said. “I make my own choices. And I choose not to partake of something you so obviously disapprove of. Now leave me be to look broody and moderately heroic.”

 

This was the Loki she liked: considerate, even as he pretended he wasn’t. Tilting her head slightly, she took a moment to appreciate his broody pout as genuine affection slowly curled her lips.

 

They started the conversation with majors. Loki double majored in Philosophy and Physics and almost minored in classic literature, but was two classes short. Sif majored in Exercise Science. “I briefly considered being a PE teacher,” she told him around a mouthful of bread, “but then I remembered PE with you, Malekith, and Fandral.”

 

“Wise choice,” he said.

 

Deciding to go the dojo route, she double minored in Finance and Marketing, both extremely helpful in getting her business set up.

 

She had a lot of casual friends in college and a few close ones. Loki managed to piss off a lot of people, but his classmates respected his opinions (according to him, anyway). They steered clear of past relationships, silently agreeing they did not want to know.

 

(She did want to know. She was just afraid to ask. Maybe on date 10 she’d be brave enough to find out.)

 

Loki’s first two years at college, he only called home about twice a semester, and then only spoke to Frigga. A family intervention was staged at that point, and upon threat of being financially cut off, Loki started calling Odin and Thor twice a semester and Frigga once a week. Sif, on the other hand, came home every other weekend for laundry reasons, and because she missed Aunt Win.

 

“How do you handle being alone in her house?” Loki asked her, and it took Sif a moment to work past the lump in her throat.

 

Mostly she employed her tried and true tactic of ignoring everything she didn’t want to deal with. Her recent interactions with Loki, Bee, and Jane helped aid this method, and as there were always a dozen tasks to do around the house, keeping busy also helped. But sometimes she came across a knick knack Aunt Win held particularly dear, or a fond memory came to the forefront of her mind, and suddenly Sif was struggling to complete daily tasks through a sheen of unshed tears.

 

“I take it one day at a time,” Sif said in answer. “Sometimes that’s enough.”

 

“And when it isn’t?” he asked.

 

When it wasn’t, she ordered Heimdall’s and fantasized about getting drunk. “It usually is,” she said instead.

 

The server arrived with their food. After making sufficient small talk and adding extra cheese to their meals, she left. Sif made a great show of selecting the correct fork (there was only one to choose from) and settling her napkin in her lap properly, but even so, when she looked up, Loki was staring at her intently.

 

“Next time,” he said deliberately, “when it isn’t enough, call me. Or Jane.” Looking like he’d sucked a lemon, he added, “or Bee.”

 

Again, Sif had to work around the lump in her throat. A lone tear spilled out of her eye, and she hurriedly wiped it away.

 

Satisfied, Loki leaned back and started discussing one of his law professors at Harvard, describing the multiple verbal sparring matches they underwent. As Sif slowly cut into her steak, she had to admit to herself that Loki had gone and matured when she wasn’t looking.

 

Loki went on to describe the horrors of applying to grad school and the anguish he suffered in deciding between Harvard Law and Yale Law. That produced an eyeroll. While he had been busy deciding which snooty school to attend, she’d been scoping out Georgia cities to move to after graduation. In the end, she chose to stay in Atlanta because it was easier than moving to Augusta, Savannah, or Athens.

 

“And now you’re back in Vanaheim,” Loki said before taking another bite. Unlike Sif, he never spoke with his mouth full. Frigga would be proud, but Sif wondered if feeding him would shut him up when she didn’t want his opinion.

 

Sometimes she was amazed his mother liked her.

 

“So are you,” she said.

 

“Not my first life choice, but I can’t say it’s been the worst thing that ever happened to me.”

 

She was fairly certain he meant reconnecting with her, but then again, she was the one dragging him to therapy, also not his first choice. Or a choice he would have made ever.

 

“So how did Thor convince you to move home and move in with Jane?”

 

“It wasn’t actually that hard. I had no money, and him suggesting I move home to keep an eye on his pregnant wife was much more dignified than me asking my parents if I could crash at their house until I figured out what to do next.”

 

“Hm. So tell me, between being homeless in New York and asking your parents if you could move home, which would you choose?”

 

Loki made a disgusted face, which Sif pretended she wasn’t smiling at. “I choose neither,” he said.

 

“That’s not an option,” she told him. “Play the game!”

 

His eyes lit up at the challenge, as they usually did when he was presented with an opportunity where he could win. “I choose being homeless in New York,” he said. “At least I’d be in New York, and my parents wouldn’t get the satisfaction of hearing me ask for something.”

 

Of course, bless his stupid little heart.

 

“My turn,” he said, and Sif hoped she wasn’t going to regret turning this into a game. “Who would you rather date a second time, Thor or Volstagg?”

 

She twitched her nose at him. “They’re both married,” she said. “I’m not choosing to break up a marriage.”

 

“You’re not,” Loki said, dismissing her concern with a flick of his knife. “Obviously both Jane and Mrs. Volstagg tragically died in a freak lawn mower accident, leaving their husbands available. Who would you choose?”

 

She knew he was angling to have her choose Thor, though for whatever convoluted and self-serving reason she couldn’t decipher. Part of her wanted to choose Volstagg just to be petty, but she chose Thor because she was even pettier. “Obviously Thor,” she said, enjoying the storm cloud that hovered over his forehead. “That way I could torment you for the rest of your life, and rub it in that I got the superior brother. If I went with Volstagg, I’d have to avoid you for life.”

 

His storm cloud cleared and was replaced by a smirk. “So you make all your life choices with regards to me.”

 

She scowled. “I’d date Thor because he’s hot.”

 

“Too late. You already admitted to it. And you’ve told me I’m hot.”

 

“I have not,” she said, knowing full well she had.

 

“Tsk tsk, Sif; are we starting a fight?”

 

“Fine. Sigyn or Lorelei?”

 

He didn’t even hesitate. “Sigyn.”

 

That was irritating. He’d dated Lorelei to bug Sif, but he’d dated Sigyn because he liked her. Obviously he would choose Sigyn, but Sif took it personally, which was completely unfair, because if he’d chosen Lorelei, she also would have taken it personally.

 

Wisely, he didn’t offer further commentary on the subject. “Would you rather continue therapy with Coulson for the rest of your life, or eat nothing but Heimdall’s until you die?” Loki asked

 

“That’s not a fair question. I like Coulson. And if I only eat Heimdall’s, I’ll die a lot sooner, but I’ll be happy doing it.”

 

“Pick one, Sif.”

 

“Heimdall’s. But conditional on them adding Twinkie Pie to the menu.”

 

Once again, she enjoyed Loki’s disgusted face. “How can you have such a varied palate?” he demanded. Gesturing at their plates, he said, “You clearly have good taste, yet you also consider Twinkie Pie acceptable grub. I don’t understand.”

 

Propping her chin on her fingers, Sif smiled. She loved the normalcy of this interaction. For the first time in a while, she didn’t miss the afternoons spent studying for the SAT. “I have excellent taste,” she said, and then they argued for five minutes about the health benefits (mental versus physical) of eating junk food.

 

As the laughter died down, Sif asked, “Which would you rather have--a fancy sports car or your girlfriend?”

 

“Seeing as I don’t have a girlfriend--”

 

“Excuse me!” she squawked.

 

“--I’d definitely pick the car.”

 

Brandishing her steak knife, Sif said, “You had better retract that and say girlfriend, or by tomorrow you won’t have either.”

 

Leaning back in his chair, looking quite at his leisure (and entirely too appealing--how did he manage that?), Loki said, “Girlfriend, eh?”

 

Sif pursed her lips. “Say anything about the rules, and I will throw this knife at you.”

 

His smile looked entirely too much like the cat who ate the canary. “Yes, dear.”

 

Ugh, he managed to sound like an insufferable douchebag with just two words. It was a Loki specialty.

 

Dessert was delivered shortly thereafter--creme brulee for him, chocolate mousse for her--and they managed to have polite, appropriate conversation for an entire two minutes before they were interrupted.

 

Hunter, looking like a human being for once in khakis and a white button down, approached their table and clapped them both on the back. “My favorite couple!” he said, grinning entirely too widely. “Fancy seeing the pair of you here.”

 

“Aren’t you supposed to pretend like you don’t know us in public?” Loki asked, just a touch rudely, but Hunter either didn’t pick up on it or didn’t care.

 

“But I said you were my favorite,” he said, plopping a finger in Loki’s dessert and licking it. Anger narrowed Loki’s eyes, so Sif kicked him under the table and sharply shook her head. With a scowl, he crossed his arms and looked away from Hunter, who was seemingly oblivious to the tongue-lashing Sif just saved him from. “Got any suggestions from the menu?”

 

“Order something,” Loki said rudely. Sif tried to kick him again, but he’d moved his leg out of the way.

 

She smiled up at Hunter. “Why are you here?”

 

“Oh, just scoping out the place to bring my lady love here later.”

 

Loki gave him a flat look. “Someone loves you?”

 

Hunter, oblivious to Loki’s slight, said, “Sort of. Off and on. We’re on an upswing now.”

 

“Well I think that’s great,” Sif said, giving Loki a pointed look. He rolled his eyes, but kept his mouth blessedly shut.

 

“Thanks, mate. You two have fun, and don’t do anything I would do.”

 

Loki waited until Hunter disappeared around the corner before sharing his displeasure. “I don’t think that man’s ever done anything I _would_ do.”

 

“Be nice,” Sif said reprovingly. “We have to see him every Thursday.”

 

“And whose fault is that?”

 

“Hmm, good question. Whose fault _is_ it?”

 

Loki cleared his throat and took a sip of water. “Would you rather spend the day with my mother or your mother?”

 

Taking a bite of mousse, Sif then gestured with her spoon. “That is not a fair question. I love your mother, and I don’t even remember mine. I should pick mine, but I’d rather hang out with Frigga.”

 

“Odinsons do make the world a better place,” he said, and she rolled her eyes.

 

“Serious question,” she said. “Are you ever jealous of Thor marrying Jane?”

 

Loki set his spoon down, dabbing at his mouth with a napkin as he peered at her. “What brought this on?”

 

“Jane is basically your perfect match. She’s beautiful, intelligent, thinks science is an acceptable way to pass the time, and gets along with everyone in your family.”

 

Loki paused thoughtfully, taking a moment to answer. Sif wasn’t sure how to feel about the pause, but hoped it was merely him gathering his thoughts. She wasn’t sure if she should have a lot riding on the answer to this question, but it definitely felt important.

 

At last, Loki spoke. “No.”

 

Sif exhaled. How anticlimactic. “Really? You had to think about it, and that’s all you have to say?”

 

“Yes.”

 

She rolled her eyes again. “Surely there’s more to this answer than just _no_.”

 

He shrugged. “There were thoughts that went into it, but the culmination of my ruminations is simply no, I am not.”

 

Jabbing her spoon at him, Sif said, “Explain.”

 

“Why?”

 

“Humor me.”

 

It was his turn to roll his eyes. “Jane is lovely, but she is not my perfect match, as she is a perfect match for Thor. There is something so delightfully wholesome about them together that it makes me want to gag, no matter how much I like them both. Jane and I make excellent friends, but I do not think she would appreciate my snark nor allow my self-superiority.”

 

“It’s not like I love your god complex,” Sif said.

 

“No, but you also don’t try to change me. You simply yell at me for being an ass, then move on. I value that you allow me to be me.”

 

Feeling pleased, Sif hid her smile with a mouthful of mousse. She hadn’t intended to turn this into a compliment, but she liked that it ended up there. And, selfishly, she was glad to know Loki wasn’t jealous of Thor for having Jane. It eased another worry she didn’t realize she had before this conversation.

 

Once Loki paid the bill, they headed home, chatting about inconsequential things during the drive. It was early yet, but Sif was glad to be going home. There was a lot she wanted to process.

 

At her doorstep, Sif unlocked her door before turning to Loki. “You’re not coming in,” she told him.

 

“Entrance into your home is not what I bargained for,” he replied, stepping close and slipping an arm around her waist. Sif’s heart started pounding, and she felt flushed all over as she placed one hand on his shoulder and the other on his chest, just above his heart. His heartbeat matched hers.

 

Their eyes met as he drew her in. With his free hand, he lightly touched her chin, tilting her head slightly to the left so their lips could meet. The kiss was so soft, so gentle, Sif almost couldn’t believe it was Loki she was kissing. She opened her eyes, just to make sure, then closed them again and lost herself in the moment.

 

His hand moved to her hair, and everything was a gentle caress. He increased the pressure, and suddenly it wasn’t gentle at all, and Sif found herself gasping for breath before plunging right back in.

 

Forty-five minutes to kiss goodnight wasn’t much of an exaggeration, and by the time they parted, Sif struggled to remember her name.

 

It was probably a good thing they’d never done this as teenagers. She doubted she’d have done as well on the SAT if they had.

 

“We should do this more often,” she told him, taking a step back to clear her head.

 

“Make out on your front porch?” he asked, looking delightfully mussed.

 

“Have an evening where we don’t try to kill each other,” she said, though personally she liked his suggestion better.

 

“But I do so love provoking you,” he said. “You look glorious when shrouded in anger.”

 

She rolled her eyes, but didn’t stop the smile that sprang up. Pushing him off her porch, she said, “Goodnight,” and escaped into her house, where she watched him through the living room window as he walked back to his house.

 

Touching her lips, she murmured to herself, “Oh, Siffy girl, you’re in trouble.”

  
  


 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I spent half an hour making a pinterest board of Tom Hiddleston wearing suits for this chapter. #research


	12. Crash Into Me

“I’m telling you, Volstagg, someone is mowing my lawn, shaping my bushes, and weeding my garden. Only two people besides me have sat in that dirt, and I know it wouldn’t occur to Fandral to do service. Are you sure it’s not you?”

 

It was Tuesday night, and Sif and Volstagg were once again at the gym, rotating through free weights. Sif had always preferred the free weights to the machines, but since losing muscle mass because of the accident, she was having to work her way back to where she was before. It was frustrating working with the small dumbbells--she should be able to bicep curl more than 10 lbs at a time--but it took time to rehabilitate injuries and, to say it like Loki, return to her former glory.

 

At least she wasn’t hurting anywhere. That was a victory.

 

Volstagg was lying on a weight bench, doing chest presses. Carefully setting down his weights, he shook his head. “Not that I’m against doing your yard work, but I’ve been busy with my own. You sure it isn’t some secret admirer working his way into your heart?”

 

“Loki? Really?” she asked skeptically.

 

“So that _is_ a thing,” Volstagg said smugly. “I knew it.”

 

Sif went through a variety of snide responses before convincing herself to settle on one that didn’t seem rude. She said, “I may have let him take me to dinner on Friday.” Volstagg waggled his eyebrows at her, so she blushed and said, “And yes, I let him kiss me.”

 

“Yes!” Volstagg shouted, fist pumping, and disturbing every other patron because he didn’t understand the meaning of the word quiet. “Hilde owes me a horror movie! She didn’t think you two would get your crap together until next summer, but that’s because she didn’t watch you two moon after each other in high school.”

 

“We did not moon after each other in high school,” Sif said, affronted. She set down her weight and turned to face him, crossing her arms. “I think you, Fandral, and Thor have weirdly selective memories from high school.”

 

“And I think _you_ \--” he shoved a finger in the direction of her collar bone “--spent all of Homecoming with me talking nonstop about the seventy stupid things Loki had done that week.”

 

“That was kind of me,” Sif said. “It was probably closer to 100.”

 

Volstagg retracted his finger and huffed. “The point is, Siffy girl, we dated for what, three weeks? And at least half of our conversations were about Loki. I hadn’t even met him, but I felt like we were childhood friends when we were finally introduced.”

 

Sif had no memory of this, but she was afraid if she continued refuting Volstagg’s claim, he’d have anecdotal evidence. She didn’t need a reminder of her teenage years.

 

Retrieving her forgotten weight, Sif moved from bicep curls to overhead tricep extensions. “I talked a lot about running,” she said.

 

“You talked a lot about running Loki over.”

 

She laughed. That was probably true.

 

Volstagg increased his weights, and Sif tried not to be jealous. He continued, “And I remember lunch time when you would pretend to talk to Fandral about whatever he was yakking on about, but your eyes would search out Loki and follow him until he sat down with us. Then you would really start talking to Fandral and go out of your way to ignore Loki unless he directly addressed you.”

 

That...sounded completely accurate. How better to deal with a crush than pretend you hadn’t noticed his arrival? “Man, teenagers do stupid things,” Sif sighed, resting her arms between repetitions.

 

“Like really ignore Loki when--”

 

“Please stop talking about high school Loki,” Sif interrupted. “Let’s talk about grown up Loki.”

 

Volstagg shook his head. “Like you’d let me say anything. You’re too busy mooning about him now.”

 

Sif flushed and instead said, “How about you moon about Hilde for a while then?”

 

He was only too happy to oblige.

  
It was nice, actually, to hear Volstagg gush about his wife. Sif was happy he’d found someone who loved him just as much as he loved her, and she enjoyed listening to his gushing adoration. It was sweet, and made her wonder if Loki ever gushed about her. Probably not, as Loki wasn’t much for gushing about something that could later be used against him. At best, he probably perfunctorily announced that he’d seen her and she wasn’t dead yet, thank you and goodnight. She should probably ask Jane to confirm.

 

Volstagg went on for a full ten minutes, depicting his wife as a goddess. Sif wondered if he and Thor ever had my-wife-is-the-best competitions. She imagined they would be equally sappy, and Loki would sit on the sidelines making snide remarks while pretending he wasn’t jealous.

 

Out of nowhere Volstagg produced his phone and snapped a photo. “That’s the mooning face,” he said, turning the screen around to show her. Sif tried to snatch his phone away, but Volstagg, having an unfair height advantage, held it out of her reach. “I think it might be facebook worthy,” he said, and Sif tried to climb him to reach the phone. He handily wrapped an arm around her and removed her from his person. “Ah ah ah,” he said, and Sif wanted to smack the grin off his face.

 

She settled for turning her back on him and closing her eyes. “If I can’t see you, you must not be here,” she said childishly, and he laughed.

 

“Maybe I’ll just frame it and give it to Loki at your wedding.”

 

She rolled her eyes, a weird sensation when they were closed. “Yes, because he’ll definitely want to see me sweaty and flushed.”

 

“Sneak peek for the honeymoon,” he said thoughtfully, and Sif nearly dropped her weight.

 

“Volstagg!”

 

*

 

At therapy, Loki was uncertain why Sif refused to meet his eye. He hadn’t seen her since Sunday, but they’d texted a fair amount, and to his knowledge she wasn’t angry with him, so either she was embarrassed about all the kissing last Friday (a shame, as he was interested in an encore performance) or it was something else entirely and didn’t concern him.

 

At least Coulson didn’t appear to be in the know, as he was sending Sif questioning looks but couldn’t catch her attention, either. He looked at Loki with raised eyebrows.

 

“It’s not my fault this time,” Loki said, and Coulson smiled.

 

“What’s not your fault?” Sif asked without looking.

 

Loki gave a long suffering sigh. “All the women who’ve been clamoring for my number. Apparently all that neighborhood jogging has made me quite popular with neglected housewives.”

 

Now she looked at him, disdain in every feature. Loki smiled. “Why are you like this?” she demanded.

 

Turning to Coulson, Loki ignored her and said, “Now it’s my fault.”

 

The crinkling of Coulson’s eyes as he smiled made Loki wonder if the man ever laughed. Though he showed emotion, it was always tightly controlled and only expressed through small motions and tics. What would it take to make this man lose his cool?

 

Not that Loki could find out, as Sif would be most displeased if he tried. She actually liked the man, and would probably take it as a personal insult.

 

Despite Sif’s current temperament, Loki thought things were going rather well between the two of them. They hadn’t had a major fight in a week, she’d consented to be seen in public with him, and they’d spent a admirable amount of time kissing on her front porch. If he could keep this up for a few more weeks, he might convince her they were stable enough to ditch therapy. It wasn’t doing much, as far as he was concerned, except interrupting his work day and forcing them to talk about things better kept to themselves, though he did like having a regularly scheduled time Sif had agreed to spend with him.

 

But if he could convince her to admit publicly that she was dating him, he could regularly see her all the time, and with kissing, to boot.

 

Amused, Loki wondered what Coulson would do if they started making out on his couches. He was tempted to see, and would have, if he thought Sif would still be talking to him afterward.

 

“Did you moon over me in high school?” Sif asked suddenly.

 

“What? No,” he said firmly, though it was a massive lie.

 

“See? That’s what I said,” she said, leaning back in her seat. “Volstagg should listen to me, now that I’ve got you backing me up.”

 

That was most unfortunate. Loki had no problem telling a lie when it suited his purposes, but Volstagg was one of the few who’d (unfortunately) been privy to the longing looks Loki had sent Sif’s way during their adolescence. He knew too much.

 

“Were you discussing your high school feelings for Loki?” Coulson asked Sif, jotting something down on his paper. Loki once again wished he could see Coulson’s notes.

 

“Um, no?” Sif said.

 

“Liar, liar, pants on fire,” Loki taunted her, and she shot a glare his way.

 

“Loki,” Coulson admonished. Loki resisted the urge to stick out his tongue, knowing it was a childish response to hide that he felt chastised.

 

Sif fiddled with the gold bracelet on her right arm, the metal occasionally catching the light. Suspecting it was a nervous tic, Loki reached over and took her hand, lacing his fingers with hers. He did not look at Coulson, not wanting to see the look on the older man’s face.

 

“Someone’s been doing my lawn,” Sif said, taking the conversation in a new direction. Loki forced himself not to tense up, keeping his hand loose against hers. He absolutely did not want her knowing it was him.

 

Coulson murmured a neutral sound, which Sif took as encouragement to continue as she said, “I asked my only friend who could be responsible, and he insisted it’s not him. I don’t know anyone else willing to pick through my weeds.”

 

Coulson, not an idiot, suggested, “Could it be Loki?”

 

Sif snorted. “As if. I think he’s allergic to outside work.”

 

“She’s not wrong,” Loki said. “Have you considered that maybe the neighborhood, tired of the eyesore that was your house, pitched in and paid to take care of the problem?”

 

She looked at him sideways. “Are you suggesting it was Bee?”

 

Loki wasn’t sure how she’d come to that conclusion, so he just shrugged. “Weirder things have happened,” he said, “like you deciding to join the neighborhood watch.” Remembering that was his primary complaint against her at the moment, he turned to face Coulson and said, “I have a grievance to air. She’s coercing me into joining the ridiculous neighborhood watch.”

 

She gripped his hand tightly enough that it was bordering on uncomfortable, which was no accident. “I thought we went over this,” she said sweetly.

 

“I can still complain about it.”

 

“That is your M.O.”

 

“Children,” Coulson said, sounding like a stern father. Loki pried his fingers away from Sif’s and tucked his hand underneath his arm.

 

“I don’t want to be doing it, but I’m doing it for her,” he said grumpily.

 

To his surprise, Sif smiled. “It’s one of his better qualities, that he will do what I ask him to just to keep me happy,” she told Coulson. “He’ll deny it to his dying day, of course, but that doesn’t change anything.”

 

“So he has redeeming qualities after all,” Coulson said, and Loki couldn’t figure out of the man was joking or not.

 

“One or two,” Sif said fondly, and Loki scowled.

 

“If you’re done assessing me like cattle,” he said coolly.

 

They weren’t. Sif told Coulson of Loki’s request that she call him when she was missing Aunt Win, which Loki didn’t think was any of the therapist’s business. Coulson raised his brows at that, looking almost considering, though he offered no commentary. Sif also spoke of Hunter’s rude interruption of their dinner, which prompted a tiny smile from the other man.

 

Loki could not get a good handle on what made that man tick. Things he thought should produce outrage in the therapist garnered only quiet smiles, while other inconsequential bits of information brought probing questions and vague disapproval. The end result made Loki want to attend therapist school just to see what was taught there.

 

As therapy drew to a close, Sif said, “Oh, by the way, Loki, the first meeting is tomorrow night at 7:00.”

 

“Seriously?” he asked flatly. “She really doesn’t have a social life, does she?”

 

“This is her social life,” Sif said.

 

He refrained from saying what he thought about that, but from Sif’s unimpressed look, she knew anyway. Really, he should get points for attempting civility. “Fine,” he said, “but I’m walking out at 8:00.”

 

Sif smiled, and Loki hated that if she asked him to stay until 9, he would.

 

Taking her hand, he escorted her out, and with a kiss they parted ways.

 

*

 

It was 5:50, and Loki was running late thanks to a last minute request from a client. If he hurried home, he’d have enough time to change and eat before showing up to Sif’s ridiculous watch meeting. She didn’t know it yet, but he was going to take her out afterwards, and if she showed signs of refusal, he’d remind her that he sat through a fruitless meeting for her.

 

Pulling his keys out of his pocket, Loki idly wondered if anybody would show up besides him and Sif. If this turned into a gab session for the girls, he was going to pull out his headphones and play on his phone, Sif’s good will be damned.

 

Selvig & Son was a small law firm, the exact opposite of the corporate gig Loki was used to in New York. It only took up part of one floor instead of an entire building, and these yokels had never heard of underground parking, though they had condescended to include a ten spot parking lot. Normally Loki parked his Benz in the slot farthest from the street to ensure the walking masses didn’t touch his car, but the lot was being repaved, so he was parked on the street. If it was scratched or covered in fingerprints, someone was going to hear about it.

 

Walking to the driver side, Loki clicked his key fob to unlock the doors. As he reached for the door handle, some moron who didn’t understand the concept of slowing down as he turned came speeding around the corner. Loki threw himself against the side of his car, but he wasn’t fast enough to completely avoid being hit and was clipped on his right side. The force of the impact shoved him backwards into his side mirror, cutting into his back. That was going to leave a bruise.

 

The offending car sped off in the distance, and Loki fell to the ground, his head smacking into the asphalt.

 

Getting hit didn’t bother him nearly as much as the idea that Sif was going to accuse him of orchestrating this accident to get out of Bee’s stupid meeting. He’d just gotten back into her good graces.

 

“Someone call the police,” he said calmly, then promptly passed out.

 

*

 

For the dozenth time, Sif checked the time on her phone. Loki was twenty minutes late, and she was going to murder him.

 

Bee was busy detailing her plan to canvas the neighborhood. It was an involved plan that required more than three people to show up--not that Loki bothered to keep his commitment, so two people, really--but that didn’t seem to deter her in the slightest. When Sif asked about it, Bee happily chirped that if the neighbors saw other concerned citizens taking neighborhood safety in hand, they’d realize the brilliance of her plan and flock to sign up.

 

Sif thought that was overly hopeful and relied too much on the goodwill of strangers.

 

Checking her phone again, Sif ground her teeth. Unless Loki was lying dead in a hospital, he was going to get an earful from her. Even if he was lying dead, he’d still get an earful. How dare he find a legitimate way out of helping Bee.

 

Fortunately, Bee didn’t seem to notice Sif was distracted. She’d pulled out a color coded chart and was describing the benefits of overlapping walkthroughs, just to ensure safety at all times. Loki was right; this woman really needed a hobby. Or a husband who came home once in a while.

 

By the time the meeting ended (at 7:50, Sif viciously noted--suck it, Loki, we can do things in a timely manner), Sif was livid. It was bad enough Loki was letting her down, but to disappoint Bee? When Sif had so clearly explained she was the only reason they were doing this in the first place? It was unforgivable.

 

“I’m so glad you came,” Bee said, her wide smile making Sif that much angrier. How dare that dirty ingrate let down this sweet woman. “I know we’re a small operation, but with perseverance and determination, we can make this program a success!”

 

“You’ve put a lot of thought into this,” Sif told her sincerely, then made her excuses and left.

 

Marching straight across the street, Sif bypassed her house and headed to Loki’s. All the lights were off and his car wasn’t in the driveway, but she didn’t let that stop her. After banging on the door, Sif paced back and forth in front of it. When no one answered, she banged again. It was a Friday night; surely Jane, at least, was home, even if Loki was enacting self-preservation and ignoring Sif. Jane’s husband was half a world away; she had nowhere to be.

 

That was unkind. Jane had friends, and even if she didn’t, a woman could go out by herself. Taking a deep breath, Sif calmed herself. Think through this rationally, she thought. Maybe Loki took Jane somewhere so he’d have an excused absence. Annoyance spiked through her, but Sif shoved it down. Calm. She needed her wits about her to face Loki; he was entirely too good at riling her up and using it to his advantage.

 

Banging on the door one last time, Sif pulled out her phone and sent Loki a text.

 

_Sif: Where the hell are you?_

 

No response.

 

He’d better be lying dead in a hospital.

 

*

 

Loki scowled in Jane’s direction as the nurses once again checked his vitals. “I’m fine,” he growled, but not a single woman listened to him.

 

He’d only passed out for a moment, but some concerned bystander freaked out when he fell unconscious and called an ambulance he was now going to have to pay for. The bystander made a bigger deal out of the incident than Loki thought was warranted, and unfortunately for him, the paramedics bought into the hysteria and rushed him to the ER.

 

It didn’t help that he’d been dazed upon waking, but that passed quickly and hadn’t returned. His irritation with the situation cut through any confusion he’d initially felt, and he’d been grumpy ever since.

 

He had a massive bruise on his back and hip and his arm was broken, but Sif and Thor had given him worse as a child, which had been a fun conversation with the doctor.

 

“You’ve suffered multiple fractures before,” the woman had said, concern creasing her brow.

 

“Childhood injuries,” Loki assured her, but that only increased the worry.

 

“Were you abused as a child?” she’d asked softly but firmly, and Loki had snorted.

 

“Not unless you count my brother and our best friend wrestling with me and accidentally snapping my arm with their combined weight.” The look she gave had him rushing to insist he had not been abused, thank you very much.

 

His arm had been set and a cast applied, but when they brought out a sling, Loki balked. “I do not need that,” he said, eyeing it like a snake in the grass. A broken wrist could be mostly concealed beneath a long-sleeved shirt, but slings were entirely too conspicuous.

 

“You need it for your elbow,” the doctor said.

 

“No I don’t.”

 

She looked at him like he was a kindergarten child. “Did you go to medical school while my back was turned?” she asked. “Because if you did, I bow to your superior intellect and ability to cram four years of school and four years of residency into half an hour, and won’t press the issue.” Loki said nothing, so she nodded in satisfaction. “Barring that, you injured your elbow. Elbows don’t get casts because if you hold it still for six weeks, it may never get straight again. The sling allows for movement and healing. Wear the sling.”

 

Loki didn’t recall being told he’d injured his elbow. He waited for the doctor to leave before he said so, which produced a new round of concern from Jane and the nurses, and now he was being evaluated for a concussion.

 

This was unbearable. He felt fine and just wanted to go home.

 

A throbbing in his arm told him he was lying to himself, but really, he’d suffered worse. A couple of tylenol, a bit of rest, and he’d be fine.

 

As the medical professionals were consulting about his supposed concussion and what to do about it, Officers Rogers and Wilson returned to finish taking his statement. Loki had nothing to add that hadn’t already been said, but he was deeply interested in whether any of the witnesses had identified the perpetrator or caught the license plate from the car (not yet, they told him). The perpetrator needed to pay for the damage to Loki’s car, and he fully intended to sue.

 

Hit and run my ass, he thought irritably. There had better be CCTV somewhere near Selvig & Son to help I.D. the perp.

 

The cops took their leave with the nurses, who were off to find more drugs to try and pump into his system, he was sure. Finally alone with Jane, Loki turned to her and asked, “What did Sif say when you called her?”

 

“I told you I left my phone at home,” Jane said, which he did not remember her saying. “And since yours broke in the accident, I don’t have her number.”

 

Interesting. So Sif had no idea what had happened, and only knew that he blew off their neighborhood watch date. Fantastic.

 

“You know, I’m feeling nauseous,” he said, trying to lean backwards, which the bruise across his back made difficult. Giving up and falling back onto the exam table, Loki grunted. That hurt a lot more than anticipated. “Ill all over, really. Might have a few more broken bones; concussion’s real bad, too. I should definitely spend the night here. Maybe the next week.”

 

Jane’s amused look told him she didn’t buy it, but she said nothing as she reached over and carded her fingers through his hair. He closed his eyes; that felt good--certainly better than the meds they were trying to give him.

 

“I don’t think Sif will be mad at you once she finds out what happened,” Jane said at length.

 

Loki opened one eye. “Have you met the woman?”

 

“She loves you,” Jane said. “I’m confident she’ll be more concerned with your health.”

 

Jane only thought that because she didn’t have vivid memories of Sif repeatedly smacking her broken arm. Loki did; injury was no bar to that woman’s irritation. The only reason Thor hadn’t matched her provoking ways was Frigga would have grounded him until eternity.

 

To be fair, Loki had returned the favor when Sif broke her arm, but he didn’t need to provide an opportunity for her to remember that.

 

“If the doctors return and I’m asleep, please tell them I puked all over everything,” Loki murmured, already drifting off.

 

“You did puke in the ambulance, though the paramedics said it was only once and only a little.”

 

He did remember that, and remembered the smell, too.

 

“Hmm,” he said, and fell asleep as the physical exhaustion caught up with him.

 

*

 

By morning, Sif was sufficiently worried. Neither Jane nor Loki ever came home, and neither were answering their phones; Loki’s went straight to voicemail.

 

Sif briefly entertained the idea that they’d run off together, and this was their garbage way of announcing it, but she knew them better than that. Jane couldn’t mention Thor’s name without lighting up like a Christmas tree, and as much as Loki liked to complain about his brother, he would never do anything to hurt Thor.

 

Not to mention she was pretty confident in Loki’s affection for her, which was what was worrying her now; given that he didn’t want Sif to hate him forever, if something had happened, Loki would have called or texted by now. If he hadn’t, it meant he couldn’t.

 

Sif sipped on her coffee and worried.

 

Jane pulled into the house just after six in the morning, parking in the driveway. Sif leapt from her vigil at the living room window and hurried to greet her friend, calling her name as soon as she stepped outside. Jane turned, looking bleary eyed, and smiled at Sif. Relief washed through Sif; things couldn’t be that bad if Jane could smile. If everything was okay, that meant Sif could return to being irritated with Loki.

 

“You’re up early,” Jane commenting, covering a yawn as she did so.

 

“Couldn’t sleep,” Sif said, noting Loki was not with his sister-in-law. “Where’s Loki, and why isn’t he answering his phone?”

 

Jane yawned again. “He’s still at the hospital.”

 

Hospital. That drew Sif up short, arresting her heartbeat as phantom beeps and being wheeled to an operating room flashed through her mind. Blinking it away, Sif reminded herself to stay calm until she had reason to not be.

 

“Hospital?” she croaked.

 

Jane yawned again, wiping sleep tears from her eyes. “Sorry, I didn’t sleep well,” she said. “The hospital really needs to invest in comfortable bedside chairs.”

 

Panic started creeping in, and Sif was having a hard time batting it away. “Hospital?” she repeated.

 

As Jane told Sif about the accident, the panic took full hold and Sif was transported back to her own accident: the flashing lights, shouted words, mass confusion, and the pain. The sharp jabbing pains, the dull throbbing pains, and the pain of being alone because she knew Aunt Win wasn’t there to help. Phantom aches along her many healed fractures reminded her of the intense misery she’d suffered during and after the incident.

 

Dropping to a crouch, Sif put her head between her knees clutched at her hair, trying to remember how to breathe.

 

Gentle hands on her back returned Sif to herself, and she looked up into Jane’s concerned eyes. “Sif.”

 

Holding onto her name like a lifeline, Sif rasped, “Please tell me he’s okay.”

 

“He is,” Jane said, and when Sif didn’t believe her, said firmly, “He is, Sif. He’s alive and in one piece and annoying as all get out. The doctor tried to throw him out more than once last night, and the nurses even got snippy with him.” Sif gave a watery laugh. Jane reached over to wipe away a tear. “He’ll be fine, I promise.”

 

Sif nodded, stemming the flow of tears. Once she had that under control, she asked, “Why didn’t you call me?”

 

“My phone’s inside. I came home to get it so I could call Frigga. Loki’s broke when he fell, and he’s not exactly in a position to be remembering your number, assuming he even has it memorized. Honestly, I’m surprised he could remember mine. He hit his head pretty hard.”

 

“His head’s too thick to take much damage,” Sif said without thinking, and Jane laughed.

 

“Don’t I know it,” Jane said fondly, reaching over to stroke Sif’s hair. Some of the tension in her shoulders leaked out, and Sif missed Aunt Win, who used to do the same thing.

 

They sat together on the driveway for a few minutes in peaceful silence as Sif calmed down. Jane’s head started bobbing and her hand stilled on Sif’s head. She looked like an angel, which was grossly unfair because normal people didn’t look attractive when they slept.

 

Nudging Jane awake, Sif told her to go inside and call Frigga, then get some sleep. Sif was heading to the hospital, and she would stay with Sir Cranky Pants for the time being. Jane made half-hearted protestations, but they were insincere and both women knew it.

 

“Thank you,” Jane said, covering another yawn. “If Loki doesn’t know how lucky he is to have you, it’s only because he’s a moron.”

 

“Or because he was dropped on his head as a baby, bless his heart,” Sif said, and Jane laughed.

 

Sif didn’t trust herself to drive, so she called an Uber. The last thing she needed was to also get in a car accident--another car accident, she amended. She shivered and pushed away the memories.

 

At the hospital, she was directed straight to Loki’s room. He was blessedly asleep, allowing Sif to look him over without his annoying voice getting in the way. He wasn’t in the ICU, so he was already doing better than she had. There weren’t many visible injuries, though Sif knew from experience it was the invisible ones that were hardest to deal with. His arm was in a cast, with a sling draped over the bed railing. She couldn’t see any cuts or bruises, but that didn't mean there weren’t any.

 

He still had his hair, she noted with amusement. It probably hadn’t occurred to him he could lose it, if he needed cranial surgery or stitches somewhere inconvenient. She was sure he would have been more upset about that than being hit.

 

Reaching out, she gently traced his face, then let her fingers fall into his hair. A tear dripped off her chin and landed on his cheek. Loki twitched, but did not wake, and Sif hurriedly wiped away her remaining tears.

 

Dammit, Loki Odinson, she thought, we weren’t supposed to fall in love. High school should have been it for us.

 

But it hadn’t been, and now she cared, and knowing she had almost lost him yesterday made her heart constrict and her breathing increase.

 

Taking the seat Jane had presumably slept in, Sif scooted it closer to the bed and rested her head next to Loki’s arm. She would have taken his hand, but didn’t want to risk hurting him further. She should have sat on the other side of the bed, she thought, then closed her eyes and slept.

 

*

 

Loki woke to a nurse attempting to insert an IV. Yanking his arm out of her grasp, he gave a proper scowl. “No,” he snapped.

 

“Mr. Odinson,” the nurse said, and from the still pleasant tone she was using, he knew she had recently started her shift and had yet to be informed that he was one of _those_ patients. "Pain relievers--”

 

“I said no,” he said, the throbbing in his arm fueling his stance.

 

“Now Mr. Odinson,” she started, but was cut off by a raspy voice.

 

“If he wants to suffer, let him suffer.”

 

Loki had not noticed Sif sleeping with her head on his bed, but he was pleased she was there. He considered moving his arm to touch her, but with the level of pain he was currently experiencing, doing so would only convince the nurse to press the issue of pain meds.

 

So instead he said, “It’s not my fault.”

 

Lifting her head, Sif gave him a look that said _I don’t know and I don’t care._ “Good morning to you, too,” she grumbled, bringing her hand up to cover a yawn. She had bags under her eyes and her face looked a bit off, like maybe she hadn’t slept or eaten enough. Loki wondered how long she’d been there. Then he wondered how long he’d been asleep.

 

“Where’s Jane?” he asked suddenly, looking around for his sister-in-law.

 

Sif sat up, stretching her arms wide as she answered, “Really? You see me, and your first inclination is to claim something isn’t your fault, followed by asking about another woman? You’re not very good at this relationship thing, are you?”

 

The nurse snorted a laugh, and Loki glared at her. “You’re free to leave,” he said. With a roll of her eyes, she did just that. He was sure their next interaction wouldn’t be pleasant. “Seriously, Sif, where is Jane?”

 

“She’s at home, hopefully asleep. She called your mom.”

 

And that meant Frigga would be on the first flight out of D.C. to make sure her precious baby was being properly taken care of. While Loki looked forward to eating his mother’s food, he was not looking forward to being babied. He glanced sideways at Sif; or interrogated.

 

Other people made life so difficult.

 

Loki tried to sit up, but the deep bruise across his back put a damper in that plan. He supposed somewhere in the back of his mind he knew deep bruises made using muscles difficult, but for all the fighting he’d done with Sif and Thor as children, they’d never encountered this problem. Gritting his teeth, he said to Sif, “I seem to need assistance sitting up.”

 

Half asleep again, she turned her head away and said, “No.”

 

“I need to use the bathroom.”

 

“Hold it,” she said, voice muffled by the bedsheet.

 

“I will happily urinate all over you,” he said coldly.

 

She huffed and sat up. “You would, too.”

 

Gritting his teeth against the strain, Loki allowed Sif to haul him into a sitting position. The movement jarred his arm, and he momentarily regretting turning down the nurse’s medication as his vision turned red. Once in a sitting position, he leaned against Sif and breathed through it until the pain receded and his vision cleared. Sif was gently stroking his hair and murmuring soft words, a small comfort Loki hadn’t known he needed.

 

She dropped a kiss against his forehead and helped him to his feet, gently guiding him through the pain. “You know,” she murmured, “this would be a lot easier if you’d take the drugs.”

 

“And when have you ever known me to do easy?”

 

“You’d get more sympathy,” she said, snaking her arm around his waist. Her hand passed over his bruised back and Loki went completely still, convinced this was the end as the dull throbbing ache took over his entire body.

 

The moment mercifully passed, and Loki growled, “ _Do not touch me there._ ”

 

“Wow,” Sif said. “That was so specific I now know exactly what not to touch.” She paused, looking thoughtful, and said, “I guess in comparison, I was a model patient. I should really write my doctors and nurses a thank you letter.”

 

Walking was more difficult than usual due to the bruised hip, but not impossible, so Loki successfully limped to the bathroom and was grateful that as a man he got to pee standing up. He wasn’t sure he have could survived the humiliation of having Sif help him sit on the toilet.

 

When he exited the bathroom, Sif hung up her phone. “That was your mother,” she informed him. “She’s booked a flight and will be here this afternoon. She also said if you don’t behave and let the nurses do their job, she’ll see to it Thor has a funeral to attend.”

 

While Loki had no doubt Sif was exaggerating that last bit, he also knew it wouldn’t be much of an exaggeration. He sighed. “Then get someone in here to do a final checkup. I want to go home.”

 

“You’ll go home when they tell you to go home, and not one second sooner,” Sif said, running a hand through her hair to try and flatten it. “And no arguing; I know how traumatic a car accident can be, no matter how hard you try to ignore your injuries.”

 

There was nothing Loki could say to that without belittling her own accident, so he nodded jerkily and pointed to the door.

 

Sitting down was just as hard as standing up was, so to save himself a repeat performance, Loki opted to remain standing. Enough time had passed since the accident that he was starting to feel the effects all over; muscles he didn’t even know he had were starting to feel sore. All this from a flyby nick? He couldn’t imagine the pain Sif has undergone when she was hit.

 

Remaining standing was also proving difficult, as Loki remembered he hadn’t eaten since lunch yesterday. With a growl of frustration, he found a wall to lean on, but the impact jarred his bruises and he had to muffle his cry of pain with the hospital gown on his good arm.

 

He had just managed to return himself to rights when Sif returned with the nurse. The looks on both their faces told him he was fooling nobody. “Turns out the doctor already approved you for release,” Sif said. “Something about not being in mortal danger but an irritant to all forced to interact with you. We just need a list of instructions and your signature and we’re good to go.”

 

“Mr. Odinson,” the nurse said in clipped tones, “you--”

 

“No, no,” Sif interrupted, pointing at herself. “Tell me. He’ll ignore everything you say and get mad at the rest of us when he ends up back here in a week.”

 

With an amused smile, the nurse left instructions for his medication schedule, which Sif assured her he would follow, insisted he make a follow up appointment with the doctor, which Sif said she was already on top of, and said if there was any extra pain, suffering was the recommended treatment. Sif laughed, which made Loki smile.

 

“Thank you, to you and everyone,” Sif said sincerely. “I know this isn’t a pleasant job, and I know he’s not the greatest patient, either. But we all appreciate your care.”

 

The nurse smiled at her. “He’s lucky to have you,” she said warmly.

 

“Oh, he knows it,” Sif said. Loki could only concur.

 

Volstagg picked them up, a horrible idea, really, until Loki realized he could easily slide into the passenger seat of the minivan. He would have had to bend over to get in a sedan, and given his troubles just going to the bathroom, Loki was sure that wouldn’t have been a pretty sight.

 

“I need food,” he announced as they drove away.

 

“Drop me off at Walgreens,” Sif told Volstagg, “then pick something up at Heimdall’s. I should be done by the time you’re through. I’m buying.”

 

Loki accepted her offer to pay, mostly because he didn’t know where his wallet was.

 

Oh, yes. His things.

 

“What happened to my phone?”

 

“He sure loves you,” Volstagg said over his shoulder.

 

“I know where Sif is,” Loki said, a touch surly.

 

“I’ve got everything,” Sif said from behind him. “At least everything that was on you when you were admitted: wallet, keys, business card, and phone, which is smashed.” Oh. He’d forgotten that part. “I’ve also got the officers’ number and a copy of the incident write up.” It was probably on paper, that’s how backward these people still were. “And I’ve got your prescription, which we are filling, and you are taking.” Hah. He’d like to see her try and make him.

 

“It’s always great having the wife handle things,” Volstagg said cheerfully. “Mine’s always so much more organized than I.”

 

“Subtle,” Sif said. Loki smiled out the window.

 

They took the food home to eat, where Jane and Volstagg joined them. Loki wanted to inhale his food, but was having a hard time navigating with his left hand. He hadn’t noticed before just how much he relied on his right hand to do just about everything.

 

Noticing his struggle, Volstagg said suggestively, “Sif could help you out there.”

 

“And deny him the pleasure of struggling post-accident by himself?” Sif replied before Loki could say anything. “I’m trying to build empathy here.”

 

“True,” Volstagg said, shoving an entire biscuit in his mouth, which naturally did not stop him from talking. “He did leave you to struggle after your accident,” Loki thought he said.  

 

“I didn’t know,” Loki interjected, before he could once again be maligned. “None of the rest of you did, either. For the record.”

 

“But once Volstagg found out, he came and weeded my garden for me,” Sif said, punctuating her point with a hashbrown. Loki considered informing her that he was the one currently tending her lawn, but wasn’t ready to admit to that just yet.

 

Successfully getting his own biscuit into his mouth, Loki chewed and swallowed before saying, “You could have asked for help.”

 

“Hm, fancy that,” Sif said. “So could you.”

 

“But I don’t need help,” he told her. Three sets of eyes looked at his struggling left arm. Loki glared as he slowly and deliberately inserted food into his mouth without so much as a quiver.

 

There was absolutely no need to tell them he was sore all over and moving his arm felt a little bit like inserting it into a fire pit. He felt like he needed a nap.

 

Conversation moved on and Loki was mostly ignored, the way he currently preferred it. It was slow going, but he managed to feed himself in peace without any assistance, which made him absurdly proud.

 

There were several things on his to-do list for the day, the top of which was to start tracking down the moron who ran him over. It was going to be an unpleasant interaction with the perp, but Loki was going to demand full justice and a formal apology in the form of medical bill payment. He might even sue for emotional and psychological damages and give that portion to Sif, because she had clearly suffered more than he in that department (he was just angry).

 

He also needed to make arrangements over missing work and accommodations regarding his arm. And he needed to find that pill bottle Sif was holding hostage and make it disappear.

 

By the time breakfast was over, Loki felt more himself. The pain had subsided, and the food gave him renewed energy to face his many tasks. He didn’t feel like he’d spent the night in the hospital, and except for the glaringly obvious cast on his right arm, could hardly tell he’d been in a car accident.

 

As Jane and Volstagg cleaned up from breakfast, Sif came to stand behind him, pushing his hair out of his face so she could get a good look. Loki gave her a tiny pout, just enough to turn her faintly pink. “I’ve got to know,” she said. “Did you get hit by a car just to avoid attending Bee’s meeting?”

 

He dropped his head against her stomach. He _knew_ she would think that. “Yes,” he said. “I woke up yesterday and decided I felt like getting hit by a car. Brilliant way to start my weekend.”

 

“I wouldn’t put it past you,” she said.

 

“I’m self-serving, but I’m not a masochist.”

 

“Mm, debatable,” she said, leaning down to kiss his forehead. “Thank you for being a semi-decent patient and taking your medicine like a good boy.”

 

Loki jerked out of her reach, looking up at her. “I did no such thing,” he said.

 

She just smiled and kissed his head again. “Let’s get you into bed,” she said. “A nap will do you good.”

 

Distracted by the phrase _get you into bed_ , Loki decided not to fight the pill issue. He could address it later, after he’d found the bottle and disposed of it, entirely unused. “I’ll take a nap if you come with me,” he said.

 

“That was the plan. If I don’t tuck you in, I doubt you’ll stay still.”

 

She was absolutely right, but that wasn’t quite what he had in mind. He allowed Sif to lead him downstairs to his room and deposit him on his bed, where he hooked an arm around her waist and dragged her down with him. He was pleased to note doing so didn’t hurt at all.

 

She gave no protest as he cuddled up to her, nuzzling her hair as he draped his broken arm over her waist. “Taking a nap with you? Worth getting hit by the car,” he said.

 

“You still have to go to the next meeting,” she told him.

 

“I don’t know, I’ve heard there are hitmen for hire who could intervene.”

 

She lightly smacked his hand. “You’re insufferable,” she said, but he could hear the affection hiding behind the words.

 

“Love you, too,” he murmured, and closed his eyes.

  
 


	13. Honesty is Such a Lonely Word

Loki was slowly being smothered.

 

On the one side was his mother. Frigga, concerned for the safety and well-being of her baby, wouldn’t let him drive anywhere and insisted on helping him dress himself, because a 28-year-old man was incapable of doing so with a broken arm. She cooked him three meals a day and stared disapprovingly if he didn’t clear his plate, because how would he ever heal from his car accident without sufficient nutrients? Here, have seconds.

 

She tucked him into bed and woke him at dawn, followed him when he went on walks (“no jogging until your bruises are gone,” she said condescendingly) and waited outside Selvig & Son every day to take him home.

 

Loki remembered why children were supposed to move out and never come home.

 

On another side was Jane, who did absolutely nothing to help with his plight. Every time he made to protest, wheedle, or whine, she patted her expanding belly and said, “Listen to your mother.” She wouldn’t even sneak him dessert, instead eating his herself--something about sugar being bad for healing bones, which was fake science and they both knew it, but she always claimed baby was craving it, and Loki wasn’t willing to face that fight.

 

On the third side was Sif. She was at his house morning, noon, and night, which Loki thought he would have loved, but was discovering he hated, mostly because she and Frigga teamed up to strong-arm him into bowing to their will. Any time he got a leg up on his mother, Sif was there to step in and make sure Frigga got her way. He was being coddled to the extreme, and he intensely disliked it.

 

Sif didn’t bring up his meds again, but kept giving him fond but knowing looks that told him she knew he was thinking about it, even though he never took a pill--which he didn’t need, because he wasn’t suffering from any pain. At all. Periodically Sif would kiss him and chuck his chin like he was a well-behaved dog, only furthering his sour mood.

 

He was sure in twenty years he would look back and be grateful they cared about him, but right now he needed to escape these well-meaning women, and the only time he could do it was the middle of the night.

 

Frigga and Sif kissed him goodnight at nine, tucking him into bed and ruffling his hair like a beloved toddler. Loki suffered through it and pretended to fall asleep immediately. He then had to lie there for three hours until he was sure everyone in the household was asleep or had gone home.

 

Three minutes past midnight, Loki slipped out of his bed and dressed in black jeans, black t-shirt, and black sneakers. There was a small basement window in his room leading to the side of the house, and his plan was to to shimmy out of it. It wasn’t a large window, so Loki had measured his shoulders against the width of the window, and he should make it. Thor wouldn’t make it out, but Loki, being more slender of figure than his brother, figured he’d be fine.

 

He was wrong.

 

He didn’t think through body placement, and halfway out, with his right arm down at his side, his hips and cast got stuck. Attempting to wiggle only made the cast chafe against his arm and bumped his hip against the other side of the window. Feeling like a fool, Loki took several minutes to slither back inside, before attempting escape again with both his arms out in front. He was very grateful neither Thor nor Sif had been present to witness this humiliating escape.

 

At long last he wiggled free, and the window slammed shut behind him. Loki held his breath, listening to any movement inside the house. After several long moments, he slowly exhaled, stood up, dusted himself off, and breathed in sweet freedom.

 

He was 28 years old; he shouldn’t have to be sneaking around like a teenager bent on mischief. When he awoke in the morning, he would inform his mother that her days as jailer were at an end.

 

For now, Loki wandered around the neighborhood, following his preferred jogging route.

 

It was quiet, still in the way the world only is after midnight, when all are asleep and most of the ambient noise comes from insects. His footsteps sounded loud on the pavement, announcing his presence to the peaceful world.

 

Despite his general irritation at the moment with Sif siding with his mother, Loki wished she was with him. She would like the quiet of the night, and her hand warm in his would only enhance the evening.

 

Rounding the corner, Loki came face to face with Sif’s irritating new friend, Bee Johnson. She looked startled to see him, but quickly recovered and moved a step closer. “What are you doing out?” she asked, voice low to match the quiet. Loki, remembering Sif’s worry that Bee’s husband had a wandering eye, felt distinctly uncomfortable at their close proximity, and took a step back.

 

“Walking,” he said. “Breathing, when necessary. You?”

 

The look she gave him was somewhere between pond scum and faint amusement. “I’m chair of the Neighborhood Watch,” she said. “I’m out being a concerned citizen and keeping an eye out for miscreants and vandals.”

 

Which she obviously thought he was, judging by the look in her eyes. Holding up his broken arm, he said, “As you can see, I’m busy tagging every building I come across.”

 

Her eyes squinted in confusion. “Tagging?” she asked, saying the word like it was unfamiliar. He huffed; suburban housewives. She should move to the city; that would be quite the education.

 

“I would apologize for missing your meeting, but as I didn’t want to be there anyway, I’m not sad in the slightest,” he said.

 

Her lips twisted with displeasure, and Loki smiled. “Yes, Sif told me all about your accident,” she said. “Shame on you for causing her worry.” Loki’s lips dropped into a scowl. “Any updates on the guy who ran you over?”

 

“ _Tried_ to run me over,” Loki corrected, suddenly worried his side of the story would be misrepresented in the neighborhood if this gossiping biddy had anything to do with it. “And no.”

 

Jane thought it was some teenager at fault who was too embarrassed to come forward and potentially lose their license over hitting someone. Sif agreed with her. His mother never commented, but from the constant furrowing of her brow whenever the subject was addressed, he knew she was worried about something else. Had there been some threat made against Odin’s family? Such things weren’t uncommon in the Senate, though Loki believed his parents would inform him if there was anything to be concerned over.

 

At least, he hoped they would. Any threat against the family could be a danger to Jane and Sif, and if that was the case, he needed to take steps to ensure their safety.

 

“Keep looking,” Bee said, half turning her body to leave. “And remember things aren’t always as they seem.”

 

It was a strange thing to say, especially coming from a lonely housewife. Peering after her retreating form, Loki wasn’t quite sure what to make of Mrs. Johnson.

 

She was halfway down the block before she turned and said, “I’ll see you at our next meeting.”

 

Loki grimaced; he really needed to look into hiring some hitmen to come after him.

 

*

 

Beams of sunlight streaming in through the window woke Sif. Snuggling deeper into her pillows, she told herself five more minutes. Trying to keep to Loki’s Frigga-imposed schedule meant keeping her blinds open at night to let the sun in in the morning, a necessary evil if she wanted to be at the Odinsons’ for breakfast.

 

She could set an alarm, but hitting snooze was way too easy. It was hard to turn off the sun.

 

Stretching her arms out straight up, Sif dropped them to either side. Her right arm hung off the bed, as it was supposed to, but her left arm hit something large, male, and _alive_.

 

She lived alone.

 

She never brought men home.

 

And even if she did, as she didn’t drink, _she would remember it._

 

With a scream, Sif grabbed her pillow and tried to smother whoever was lying beside her.

 

The victim started yelling, and Sif recognized the voice and the cast that was now hitting her thigh. Removing the pillow, she glared down at Loki. “What are you doing in my bed?” she demanded, then hit him again with the pillow to remind him he was an idiot.

 

“I _was_ sleeping,” he said rudely, rubbing his nose with his left hand.

 

“You weren’t there when I went to bed.”

 

Pulling the blanket up over his head, Loki’s muffled voice said, “Sleep now. Talk later.”

 

Sif yanked the blanket back down. “Explain now so you’ll be alive to sleep later.”

 

Loki adopted a put-upon expression, but he look at her. “I escaped my house arrest last night, but failed to bring my keys with me, and there was no way I was crawling back in that window. I know where your spare key is, so I let myself in.”

 

She had forgotten about the key Aunt Win kept under a potted plant by the back window. It would need to be re-homed immediately. “A couple of things,” she said as he retrieved a pillow to cover his eyes. “One--house arrest?”

 

“The three of you have me under lock and key,” he said. “I’m certain the only reason I’m allowed to pee by myself is none of you want to help with the process--which I’m grateful for. Please don’t get any ideas.”

 

Sif lightly shoved his knee. “We just want to make sure you’re all right,” she told him.

 

“I could use a little less _all right_ and a little more _independence._ ”

 

He might have a point. “Two,” she continued, “why my _bed_? I have a guest room!”

 

The pillows shifted with what she assumed was a shrug. “You were softer. And warmer. And prettier.”

 

She hit him with a pillow again. “Next time, ask.”

 

“I did,” he said. “I actually asked about the guest bed. You’re the one who grabbed my arm and dragged me down into yours.”

 

She had no way to verify that, but she could imagine her sleepy self doing it. She winced.

 

Deciding not to dwell on it, she said, “Third,” and here she had to repress a giggle, “you crawled out your window?”

  
He raised a hand. “ _Do not--”_

 

Too late, she was already laughing. She would pay good money to watch Loki Odinson crawl out of his tiny little basement window, especially if the result was him deciding to not crawl back through. Falling backwards, her laughter shook the bed.

 

Loki removed the pillow from his face. “It was not that undignified,” he lied.

 

“Mm-hmm.” She grinned widely at him. Propping herself up on one arm, she asked, “Does your mother know you’re here?”

 

He raised one brow. “Am I eleven?” he asked.

 

She took that as a no. Reaching over for her phone, Sif turned it on and found she had one text from Frigga. _Breakfast’s still at 7:30, dear._ She smiled again.

 

“C’mon, we don’t want to miss breakfast.”

 

“I’m fine missing it. I can feed myself.”

 

True, but he needed his next dose of pain meds. Just two more days and he’d run through his prescription, and she and Frigga could stop keeping him on such a tight schedule. But until then, breakfast was at 7:30.

 

Grabbing his hand, Sif pulled Loki to his feet. He reluctantly allowed her, though his face said exactly what he thought of her and her schedule.

 

At the Odinson breakfast table, Jane kept making suggestive faces at Loki, who was looking at her like an irritating little sister. Sif hid her snickers with a mouthful of eggs.

 

As Frigga added more bacon to the pile, she said conversationally, “Loki, darling, I hear you roosted elsewhere last night.”

 

Sif laughed as Loki choked on his eggs, face going bright red. Jane, who had snorted her coffee through her nose, was now crying between laughs as she cleaned up the mess she made. “ _Mother,”_ Loki cried, his horrified voice sounding like a 12-year-old whose mother sat him down for the birds and the bees.

 

“I don’t approve of grandchildren before marriage, so make wise choices,” Frigga said, turning back to the stove.

 

“You need better protection,” Sif told him.

 

“ _Sif!”_

 

“What?” she asked. “You were taken down by a pillow.”

 

She relished the glare he sent her way, the anger ruined by how embarrassed he was. Grabbing a slice of bacon, she held it in her mouth like an extra long tongue and waggled it at him. He shoved back from the table and stormed out of the kitchen, pausing at the doorway to look back. “All of you are fired from caring about me,” he said vehemently, then left.

 

Sif gave into her giggles, reaching over to high five Jane.

 

“It is so nice to see him flustered once in a while,” Frigga said, returning with hash browns. She sat down in Loki’s abandoned seat, replacing his soiled plate with a fresh one and helped herself. “Though I meant what I said, Sif dear. Marriage first.”

 

Sif saluted. “Yes, mother.”

 

Frigga paused, her hand covering her mouth as her eyes misted over. “Oh my,” she said, her whole face smiling. “I think I like hearing that very much.”

 

Sif ducked her head, tickled pink Frigga felt that way about her.

 

“Don’t count your chickens before they hatch,” Jane cautioned as she deposited her dishes in the sink. “As much as I like these two, there is still a very real possibility Loki will ruin everything.”

 

Dabbing at her eyes, Frigga said, “You’re right, of course, Jane. But Sif, you have my blessing should you ever need it.”

 

Frigga had a magical way of speaking a name that sounded like love, home, happiness, and ginger bread cookies all rolled into one tiny syllable. She was truly a mother to all. If Loki did screw this up, Sif fully intended to oust him from the family and adopt Frigga herself.

 

After seeing Loki off to work, Sif went running around the neighborhood. She loved the sun on her face and wind in her hair as her feet hit the pavement. Even as her lungs burned from the exercise, she said a silent prayer of gratitude that she was alive to have this experience. Running had always been her least favorite part of working out, and in her younger years she went out of her way to avoid it whenever possible. But now, having come so near to death and fighting tooth and nail to have a functional life again, she appreciated the discomfort, the misery, the freeing feeling of being able to run.

 

As she neared her house, Sif slowed to a cool down walk for the last block. Wiping the sweat off her forehead, she looked forward to a relaxing bath before heading to therapy.

 

Standing at the end of her driveway were two men she’d seen around the neighborhood. She didn’t know them, which meant they’d moved in since she graduated high school, though their vaguely familiar looks told her she’d seen them before. Approaching them, she smiled and said, “Hi!”

 

“Hey,” the taller of the two said, returning her smile. The other one glowered; Sif made a mental note to avoid him. “You live around here?”

 

Sif pointed to her house, directly behind them. “Right there,” she said. “I’m Sif.”

 

“John,” the tall one said, “and this is David.” The glowerer nodded, but said nothing. “You know the guy who lives next door, right?”

 

“Yes,” she said cautiously, entirely aware that Loki did not make a great first impression. Or second impression. Or thirty-third impression. Basically you had to become his best friend before he became tolerable.

 

Man, he was lucky to have found her.

 

“Is he all... _right_ upstairs?”

 

Well, that was a new one. Usually the first thing out of someone’s mouth was why Loki was an insufferable asshole. “As far as I know,” she said. “In 25 years he hasn’t given any indication otherwise.”

 

The man--John--looked shocked. “You’ve known him that long?” he asked, looking her up and down in a disbelieving manner. “There’s no way you’re old enough for that.”

 

Sif shrugged. “We met when we were in diapers. It’s been a long time.”

 

“A childhood friend,” the other man said sarcastically. “Of course. There’s no other reason you’d be friendly towards him.”

 

Sif had just thought the same thing, but it was one thing for her, close friend and current girlfriend, to think it, and another thing entirely for this surly stranger to say it. “If you can’t say anything nice, don’t say anything at all,” she told him, and wondered if he was from the North.

 

He glared at her, and Sif shivered. Loki glared at her all the time, but it was never sincere and there was always an undercurrent of affection. This man just gave her the creeps; his glare made him look like the kind of man you lock your doors around.

 

“Forgive David,” John said, making to pat her arm before thinking better of it. “He and Odinson aren’t exactly on friendly terms.”

 

Sif looked at John, then deliberately met David’s gaze. “I am,” she said, “and while Loki can be an absolute ass, I don’t take kindly to hearing others say so.” She tried to send a subliminal message of _back off_ , but wasn’t sure how effective it was. She felt acutely her lack of muscle mass.

 

David said nothing else, and John quickly made their excuses. Sif watched them round the corner before retreating to her house. It couldn’t be a coincidence, meeting someone angry with Loki so soon after Loki got hit by a car. For the first time, she wondered if there was more to his accident than they knew.

 

*

 

Sif started talking before Loki made it all the way through the door at therapy. “Have you been making friends in the neighborhood?” she demanded.

 

“Yes, because in all the free time I have, I spend it meeting strangers.”

 

“I’m being serious.”

 

“You and my mother have me under lock and key, so I’d say that’s a hard no.”

 

“Frigga is in town?” Coulson asked in surprise.

 

Sif turned around to face him as Loki sat down next to her. “She’s here because Loki was nearly run over by a car last week.” Loki lifted his broken arm, which, Sif noted with distaste, was not in its sling.

 

Knowing full well how Loki was, Frigga had gone back to the hospital and procured a second sling, which Sif carried around in case His Snarkiness failed to wear his. She handed it to him with a disappointed look, which he acted like he didn’t see. He was such a child.

 

“Are you all right?” Coulson asked Loki, full of concern. Loki shrugged in a most irritating manner. “You’re walking around with minimal injuries, so I assume whatever occurred was not nearly as traumatic as Sif’s accident.”

 

“Minor injuries,” Loki said casually. “So basic I don’t even feel any pain.” Sif rolled her eyes; no need to tell him he’d dutifully taken his meds every day, twice a day. Again: a child.

 

Coulson turned his attention away from Loki to look at Sif, concern still on his face. “And how are you taking the car accident trauma?”

 

Sif took a moment to work past the lump in her throat. Everyone had been so focused on Loki, no one had thought to ask her that. Sif was touched; this was one of the many reasons she liked the man. “I’ve handled it well, once I realized he wasn’t in any danger,” she told Coulson. “I didn’t have it quite so together when Jane first dropped the news.”

 

Loki angled his body towards hers, concern etched on his face. She’d been so busy taking care of him, this hadn’t been a topic of conversation between them. She sighed internally; if they ever got married, she was pretty sure therapy would remain a weekly part of their relationship, if only to ensure everything that needed to be said got said. “It was scary,” she admitted quietly. “I had flashbacks to my accident. But Jane assured me he was okay, and I breathed through it. And seeing him in the hospital helped, because he didn’t look anything like I did.”

 

Thank goodness, too. She wasn’t sure how well she would have handled him being broken from head to toe like her. Just thinking about it made her stomach queasy; counting her breaths, she had to remind herself that everything was all right.

 

“I say you showed remarkable courage showing up to the hospital at all,” Coulson said, and Sif felt like she was on the receiving end of a father’s praise. “Reliving past traumas is no easy task, but you did it. That is something to be proud of.”

 

Loki didn’t say anything, but he took her hand in his and gently squeezed, his thumb running over her knuckles. Sif wasn’t sure what made her blush more: the public hand holding or the fatherly praise.

 

Once the moment had passed, Loki reminded her of her run-in this morning. “Just two guys from the neighborhood asking about you,” she said, a frown turning down her mouth. “One seemed friendly enough, but the other gave me the creeps.” She shivered. “I didn’t like the way he was talking about you.”

 

Coulson leaned forward over his desk, looking more interested than usual. “Did he say anything in particular to make you feel that way?” he asked, peering intently at her.

 

“It was more a feeling and less what he said.” She couldn’t remember the exact words, but she did remember the cold look in David’s eyes. “It made me want to lock my doors.”

 

“What did he look like?” Loki asked. She described him as best she could, though she mostly remembered his expression and that he was shorter than his friend.

 

“I wasn’t looking very carefully,” she said apologetically.

 

“Most witnesses don’t,” Coulson told her. “It has to be trained into you to notice the details. Too many people make those details up just to sound important.”

 

Loki looked at her sideways, his brow drawn in thought. Sif had a hard time holding in a dreamy sigh; he was too gorgeous for her own good. Now was not the time or place anyway, and she had no intention of giving him fodder to tease her with later.

 

As they left Coulson’s office, Hunter called out to them before they got very far. Running around the reception desk, he approached them, a wide grin on his face. Sif noted once again he was wearing a white tank under an unbuttoned button-down.

 

Pointing to the cellphone he was holding up, he said, “Just got off the phone with my bird, Bobbi. She loved that restaurant you two recommended. Things are going well tonight!”

 

“Congratulations?” Sif said, unsure if she should be glad Hunter had someone, or feel pity for the woman he was trying to woo.

 

Loki merely grunted, not deigning to give Hunter an actual response. Hunter saluted and bowed them out of the office.

 

“I dislike that man,” Loki muttered as he walked Sif to her car.

 

“You dislike everyone,” she said, pulling out her keys.   


“I like you,” he said, and grinned. She narrowed her eyes; she didn’t trust that expression.

 

He dropped a quick kiss on her forehead and opened her door for her. It was a little thing, but Sif found more and more she liked the little things, especially coming from Loki who so often went out of his way to avoid the little things.

 

“Drive safe,” he said, “and let me know if you remember anything more about that man from this morning.”

 

“Why?” she asked.

 

“Just going to do some cross referencing.”

 

Figuring she could interrogate him later, she finger waved and promised to see him at dinner.

 

*

 

Being a lawyer had always been on Loki’s list of careers to attain as an adult. From an early age, he found he liked arguing, basking in the superiority of winning a fight based on obscure trivia. Thor beat him at every physical game they attempted, so Loki excelled at the intellectual, constantly challenging his brother to Trivial Pursuit and other like games. To date, he’d yet to lose a fight to his brother that involved talking and thinking over physical prowess.

 

Today, being a lawyer had a new advantage: since Loki represented himself, figuring out who tried to run him over could be done on company time.

 

Local law enforcement was working on getting any security footage from the area. Vanaheim, not being an actual city, did not have proper CCTV coverage, so Loki wasn’t holding out hope there. Witnesses weren’t useful, as no one questioned by the police had seen who was behind the wheel or caught a glimpse of the license plate.

 

Loki didn’t believe in coincidence, so Sif bringing their surly neighbor to his attention had to be significant. It was the first real lead he had, and he intended to find out what he’d done to anger this newcomer.

 

At least he could rule out past indiscretions; if the man had been around while Loki was growing up, he would have known Loki and Sif were close. The problem with eliminating growing up shenanigans was Loki hadn’t left the house much since moving home, so he was a bit stumped at what could have angered this man. The only truly heinous thing Loki’d done since moving back was lying to Sif, and he’d already paid for that. Plus it didn’t affect some random stranger.

 

But Loki was was well acquainted with his sometimes unpleasant disposition, so he didn’t doubt he’d done something. It just remained to be seen if that “something” resulted in an enraged neighbor attempting to exact revenge via attempted hit-and-run homicide.

 

*

 

For the first time all week, Loki had driven himself to work. Frigga hadn’t been pleased at the prospect, but when he reminded her he had therapy in the middle of the day, she’d been more than willing to let him drive himself.

 

And hadn’t that been a delightful interaction. She had been ignorant of his weekly appointments, and Loki wished desperately that he’d remembered that. He would have happily let her drive him to work and called and Uber just to hide his weekly shame, but he’d opened his stupid mouth before he thought and now she knew. He could only hope Frigga didn’t share everything with her husband and left Odin in the dark; otherwise, Loki could be expecting a phone call any day on how he was the family shame, and what would this do to the re-election campaign? Why can’t you be like your brother and go get shot at in the Middle East? Nevermind that lawyering was a perfect stepping stone to politics, should Loki ever feel so inclined.

 

Not that Loki was bitter.

 

He drove himself home, luxuriating in the tiny freedom. Perhaps now that he’d proven capable of handling his own vehicle, he could start convincing his mother to back off. He was a grown man and didn’t need to be babied.

 

Inside the house, Loki came to a complete standstill, his chin falling to his chest. Sitting in his kitchen, at his kitchen table, with his mother, was one Dr. Coulson. They were sipping tea.

 

And Coulson was _laughing_.

 

“The hell is this?” Loki demanded before he thought better of it. His mother immediately gave him a cool look, and Loki felt like washing his mouth out with soap. “Sorry,” he said, and tried again. “Why is Sif’s therapist in my house?”

 

Frigga raised one perfectly plucked brow. “I was under the impression he was your therapist as well.”

 

“No,” Loki said. “He’s Sif’s. I am merely present to keep her in good humor so she doesn’t dump my sorry--rear end.”

 

“That’s one interpretation of it,” Coulson said, calmly taking a sip out of his rose-edged tea cup.

 

It wasn’t one interpretation, it was the only honest fact, Loki thought irritably. But that was neither here nor there; there was something much more important at hand. “Again, I ask, why is Coulson here?”

 

Frigga gave him a shrewd look, and Loki felt six again, like he was being interrogated over the destruction of Frigga’s antique lamp. He must have passed muster, for his mother, rather than ignoring his query, said, “Agent Coulson and I were just catching up.”

 

_Agent_ Coulson.

 

The hell?

 

“Are you in my mother’s employ?” Loki demanded, dropping his briefcase and joining the tea sippers at the table. Frigga offered him a cup, but he refused, staring at Coulson.

 

Coulson, in no rush to answer, took another lengthy sip. Carefully replacing his tea cup precisely in the center of his saucer, he picked up his bluebonnet-embroidered cloth napkin and patted his mouth. Loki wanted to snap at him to hurry up, but he knew that doing so would would mean he lost the upper hand--assuming he even had it to begin with, which he was beginning to suspect he didn’t.

 

Frigga did not offer to intervene or answer in Coulson’s stead. Her mouth curled in amusement, giving Loki the impression she knew far more than she was letting on.

 

Loki let at least two minutes pass in silence before he snapped, “Well?”

 

Coulson looked at Frigga, and the two exchanged a silent conversation of wiggling eyebrows and head gestures. At last Frigga nodded deeply, and Coulson turned to face Loki, who was feeling more and more concerned with the situation.

 

“Yes,” Coulson finally said, and Loki glared.

 

“That is a conflict of interest,” he snapped.

 

“Yes, it is,” Coulson said.

 

Loki glared at Coulson’s impassive face but the man remained stoic. Again, Loki wondered what it would take to ruffle the man, and he was angry enough to find out. Knowing full well how it smarted to have one’s profession called into question, Loki said snidely, “Are you even a real therapist?”

 

“No,” Coulson said calmly.

 

A new anger swept through Loki as he thought of Sif sitting in this man’s office for months on end, trying to get help he wasn’t qualified to give, while Coulson just sat there and acted like it was normal. Cold fury took hold. “And you just let Sif prattle on, with no concern for her wellbeing.”

 

“I care a great deal about Sif’s wellbeing,” Coulson said. “She’s is a pleasant young woman, and something of a saint to willingly engage in a relationship with you. I did my best to give her the kind of advice I would want a daughter of my own to receive, but I did not schedule a single appointment with her. She kept returning all on her own.”

 

Loki didn’t know enough about the genesis of Sif’s visits to Coulson to comment further, but he was going to have a talk with her. If she felt slighted at all, Loki would help her sue the pants off Coulson.

 

Leaning back in his seat, Loki crossed his arms. “Tell me what you are.”

 

“Loki, manners, please,” Frigga said. “Phil is a guest in our home.”

 

“Not in my home,” Loki said evenly, never taking his eyes from Coulson. “He and I aren’t on a first name basis. And he’s been lying to me for months on end.”

 

Coulson picked up his teacup and tilted it in Loki’s direction. “And now you know how Sif felt when you first reunited,” the man said.

 

The nerve--the situations were nothing alike. Loki deepened his glare. Coulson just returned his infuriating half-smile that made Loki want to insert a sharp object in the man’s chest.

 

“Who are you?” Loki demanded again.

 

_Agent_ Coulson opened his mouth to speak, but Frigga interrupted before he could start. “Let me, Phil,” she said. “This might go over better coming from his mother.” Coulson nodded, managing to make the gesture look like a respectful bow.

 

Frigga clutched her tea cup in both hands, her fingers idly tapping the sides. “Loki, dear,” Frigga said in her best I’m-preventing-a-storm voice, “Agent Phil Coulson is head of the private security force your father and I hired to keep an eye on you.”

 

It was insulting, the idea that Loki needed _bodyguards_ to watch out for him. It was even more insulting that said bodyguards had been providing therapy.

 

Blast it all, did that mean Hunter was also security? Frigga and Odin expected that bit of lowlife to prevent any imagined threats to Loki’s person? Loki doubted Hunter could protect him from a spider, let alone any perceived threats. Hell, the man probably thought a spider was the greatest threat.

 

Insulting.

 

“I didn’t know he was posing as your therapist, or I would have said something,” Frigga continued. “He was just supposed to set up and monitor, not get involved.”

 

Loki raised a cool brow at Coulson. If those were his mission directives, he’d failed badly.

 

“I had no intention of meeting you unless there was an active threat,” Coulson took over the narrative. “I majored in psychology and had designs of being a therapist in my younger years, but was recruited by the government before I ever started grad school. I used my educational history as a cover.”

 

“Aren’t you supposed to use a fake name when going undercover?” Loki asked flatly.

 

Coulson nodded. “Well. That is the preferred method.” Loki didn’t like that he was tempted to laugh. Liking the man felt like an extra betrayal. “Sif’s Dr. Hogun is an old college friend. We lost touch after university as I cut out everyone who interfered with my new career. He remembered my plans, heard I was setting up a practice, and referred me a patient before I could say no. I was hoping to deter this Sif Schelder with a terrible session, but she set up a second appointment, and we found ourselves stuck.”

 

“Convenient,” Loki said, voice still flat.

 

Coulson shrugged. “It ended up working to my benefit. I got to keep indirect tabs on you, and then I got to keep actual tabs on you when you started showing up with her. It helped.”

 

Irritation bloomed anew in Loki’s chest that he had in any part aided in this deception. He would much prefer Coulson to admit that Loki’s presence thwarted his plans.

 

All this information still sidestepped what Loki really wanted to know, which was why Frigga and Odin thought he needed an undercover bodyguard. There was the obvious answer, that senators received threats, but to his knowledge, those threats didn’t apply to him. Or Thor, for that matter; Loki wondered if Thor had his own set of private security he didn’t know about.

 

He directed his attention towards his mother, who was scrutinizing him with her Mother Face, meaning she was looking for distress and distrust. He and Thor used to hate that face, especially since she almost always found what she was looking for. Frigga had been exceptionally good at ferreting out problems, when she took the time to look. But right now, Loki was not interested in her concern. “Mother. Is there an actual threat you’re concerned about, or is _Agent_ Coulson here for _just in case_?”

 

Frigga tsked, her nose turning up ever so slightly. “Loki, darling, you need an attitude adjustment,” she said, just a touch of frost in her tone. “Your father and I are allowed to be concerned.”

 

Being the master of the non-answer, Loki lidded his eyes and gave his mother the same stare that got him into so much trouble in his youth. “Is there an actual threat?” he repeated.

 

Her eyes darted to Coulson, and again they held a silent conversation. Loki refused to show the agitation he felt, holding himself perfectly still and waiting for a response.

 

“Unclear,” Frigga said at length. “There wasn’t anything in particular, but with the advent of your car incident, we aren’t willing to rule anything out.”

 

“Still not an answer,” Loki said. “That is merely an event that _may_ prove interesting, but does not indicate the presence of an actual threat justifying Coulson’s location here.”

 

“He is an irritating one,” Coulson said. “I admire Sif’s fortitude.”

 

“She’s always had a soft spot for him,” Frigga said fondly. Loki nearly snorted; he begged to differ. Sif had a soft spot for him _now_ , but he had dozens of stories of neglect, abuse, and bullying from their childhood to prove differently.

 

“If there’s no threat,” he said, keeping the acid out of his voice, “there’s no need for security.”

 

Again, Frigga and Coulson exchanged glances. Loki was beginning to get an idea of how it felt to interact with himself.

 

“Well?” he demanded.

 

Frigga set down her cup, hiding her hands in her lap. “There have been a lot of threats made since your father took office,” she said. “This is not uncommon. It is impossible to please everyone. Some individuals take disappointment more severely than others when their elected officials either fail to uphold campaign promises, if they’re of the same party, or do keep their campaign promises, if they’re of the opposite party. Your father and I thought it prudent to take precautionary steps. I’d hate to be lax about security and find out too late I no longer have a son with whom I can argue over the situation.”

 

A tender spot in Loki’s heart softened his mood as he took in his mother’s words. He could appreciate her actions in light of her feelings for her children. Reaching across the table, Loki held out a hand for his mother to take, which she grasped without hesitation.

 

“You could have just said so,” he told her reprovingly. Frigga laughed lightly, reaching up with her free hand to wipe away a stray tear.

 

“Loki, dear, I fear for your safety and have employed a private security force to keep an eye on you, just in case,” she said affectionately.

 

Squeezing her hand gently, Loki said, “Acceptable, but only if you’ve done the same for Thor.”

 

Frigga raised her brows. “He’s in the army. He’s surrounded by people who want to protect him.”

 

Loki yanked his hand back. Typical. Trust Thor not to need someone looking over his every move.

 

“You’ve upset the child,” Coulson said chidingly, in a tone Loki did not appreciate. “I’ve got a man on site. Your brother is being babysat the same as you.”

 

Delightful. Loki strongly hoped Sif wanted to sue Coulson.

 

“And now you think my car accident was no accident,” Loki said.

 

“The threat is being assessed. We’ll let you know.”

 

Coulson would make a good lawyer, Loki concluded. He was good at non-answers.

 

Standing up, Loki pushed in his chair and nodded at his mother. With nothing left to say and a stubborn refusal on the part of Coulson to be forthcoming, Loki could make better use of his time elsewhere, like comforting his soon-to-be angry girlfriend that her therapist was a fraud.

 

Those three free passes on therapy from Sif were no longer going to be useful. He should have bargained for something better.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Completely unrelated to the story, but I went to the dentist today to have a cavity filled for the first time ever, and there are not words to express my displeasure with this numb-face feeling. If you've seen Star Trek (2009), I feel like Kirk when he's reacting to the vaccine McCoy gave him. "Numb tongue? Numb tongue?!" It's THE WORST. That is all.


	14. Falling Around You

Sif stared at Loki, not comprehending the words he was using.

 

They were at her couch, Loki sitting while she stood in disbelief. Loki, being Loki, had come over to lie to her. It was his thing. He did terrible things, then lied to cover them up. He made up ridiculous fanciful stories that she usually fell for, hook, line, and sinker, because she was too trusting, and this was just one more in a long list of lies.

 

Right?

 

“Sif?” Loki asked, concern in his eyes. He took her hand so gently, looking at her so sincerely, she had to consider the possibility he wasn’t lying.

 

But that couldn’t be. Because Coulson was a good man; he listened; he maintained therapist-patient confidentiality; he gave quality advice; he took her interest in Loki seriously rather than mocking it, which is what she probably deserved.

 

He couldn’t be a fake therapist. He couldn’t be the one lying; that was Loki’s job. Coulson wasn’t anything like that.

 

Loki gently tugged on her arm, and Sif collapsed on the couch next to him, not really seeing her surroundings. She shook her head vigorously; she didn’t want to believe.

 

“I’ll happily sue his ass for you,” Loki said, pulling her in as her head rested against his collar bone.

 

Sif felt like an idiot. What sort of moron didn’t check a doctor’s credentials? Sif Schelder, that’s who. She just blindly trusted, because people were generally good and wouldn’t try to hurt you.

 

This was three times in one year she’d been hurt by some loser. First the car accident, then Loki’s stupid lie, now Coulson’s fake practice. Moron, indeed. Fool me once, shame on you. Fool me twice, shame on me. Fool me three times, I should probably move to Bolivia and live in the mountains, because clearly I’m not fit for human consumption.

 

Anger flared, and Sif cursed under her breath.

 

“Is that a yes to the suing?” Loki asked hopefully.

 

“You know what makes me the angriest?” she said, ignoring Loki’s comment. “It’s how much I like the guy. I always felt comfortable around him, like he was some sort of extra father figure. Damn him!”

 

“We could burn him in effigy,” Loki suggested, and Sif perked up.

 

“Yes. Let’s.”

 

It didn’t take long to make a miniature likeness of the man. It wasn’t exactly accurate, but precision of details was not Sif’s concern at the moment. She just wanted to watch her feelings burn.

 

A white gourd stood in for the head, where Sif drew in glasses, a receding hairline, and a speech bubble saying, “I’m the biggest fattest lyingest liar.” Loki fashioned a body out of spare bits of construction paper and Aunt Win’s novels. He had cleverly adjusted one book page where Coulson’s heart should have been so it read “the burning passion in his loins made up for his lack of heart.”

 

She wasn’t sure if she should be disturbed Loki found such a sentence so quickly, or not.

 

Pulling out her mostly unused grill, Loki laid out the Coulson effigy and doused it in lighter fluid, saying, “Bake our trust and we’ll bake you.”

 

An unwanted laugh bubbled up and out of Sif. “That was terrible,” she told Loki, wrapping herself around his arm and leaning on his shoulder. “But thanks.”

 

“Anything to light a fire,” he said, sending her a smouldering look.

 

Yeah. He was smokin’.

 

Sif lit a match and dropped it on the grill, watching their effigy shrivel and burn. It was cathartic, and the angry feelings she was harboring against Coulson dissipated with the quick-burning fire. One hand slid down Loki’s arm to grab his hand, fingers lacing. She should have burnt an effigy of Loki after the married-to-Jane fiasco, if it was this effective at ridding her of negative feelings.

 

“We can still sue Coulson,” Loki said.

 

“No.”

 

*

 

Back upstairs in the kitchen, they sat at Sif’s kitchen counter, sharing a dinner of Heimdall’s burgers and fries while discussing what to do next.

 

“Obviously we’re never going back,” Loki said, but Sif had other ideas.

 

“He may not be legit, but he was good at it.”

 

Loki raised his eyebrows at her. “I don’t think I have enough fingers to count the number of times you told him to his face that he was a terrible therapist.”

 

“I mean, well, uh, _yeah,_ but…”

 

Loki just stared at her, and once again Sif appreciated that her boyfriend was so pleasing to stare at. “Yes?” he asked, his voice a touch flat.

 

“Oh!” Sif exclaimed, jabbing at the air with a fry. “He listened to me talk about the baby for, like, an hour, and didn’t tell me I was overreacting or being stupid, which I was. Both.”

 

“What baby?” Loki asked.

 

“The one I thought you and Jane were having.”

 

That has been a low point. Not them having a baby--that would have been a good thing. At least, Jane having a baby would be a good thing. Jury was still out on Loki as a parent. The low point was Sif freaking out about it, because at the time she still thought Loki was married, which meant she had no right to have a break down over the issue.

 

For that alone, Coulson deserved a medal or accolade or whatever you gave fake therapists.

 

“You told Coulson about the baby?” Loki demanded.

 

“He was my therapist, Loki. I told him everything.”

 

Loki shook his head, eating another fry. “That man knows too much,” he said. “And I’m never going back to his office. Do what you want,” he said, when Sif made to object, “but I’m out. Therapy was never my idea to begin with, and I’ll take any excuse to be done with it.”

 

Well. That hurt. But he had a point; with Coulson not being a licensed practitioner, she couldn’t very well expect Loki to come back. She probably shouldn’t go herself. And she wouldn’t. It’s just...there was a hollow feeling in her chest at the thought of never seeing Dr. Coulson again.

 

She could go once more. Just to say goodbye.

 

It didn’t make her feel any better.

 

“At least we were his only fake clients,” Loki said. “Though if there were others, I could talk them into suing the man.”

 

“No suing,” she said. “It’s not his fault I’m too dumb to check his credentials.”

 

“We could sue Dr. Hogun for suggesting him in the first place,” Loki said hopefully.

 

“ _No suing!_ ”

 

Something Loki said was tickling the back of her mind, trying to remind her of something. “I feel like there’s something I’m forgetting,” Sif said. “Something important. Something I’m going to kick myself over later.”

 

He shrugged nonchalantly, reaching over to grab one of her fries. She swatted his hand away. “You’ll remember it or you won’t,” he said, leaning over to plant a kiss on her cheek. She was onto him, though, and again swatted his hand away from her fries.

 

“You’ve got your own,” she said, pointing to his empty fry box. “Well. You did.”

 

“And now I’m trying to steal yours,” he said, this time going in to plant a kiss on her mouth. She let him, but moved her fries out of his reach. “Dammit,” he said when he pulled away.

 

“Love you, too,” she said.

 

A slow smile overtook Loki’s face. He was looking at her again like she was the center of his world. “That’s the first time you’ve said you love me,” he said, sounding immensely pleased.

 

For her part, Sif was pretty sure she’d been replaced by a tomato. “Is it hot in here?” she asked, fanning her face. “I think I need to turn on the A/C.”

 

Loki leaned forward, trapping her with the affection and intention in his expression. “I think you’re beautiful,” he murmured before he stole her breath away with a searing kiss.

 

It started slow, all tenderness and love, before intensifying with added heat. Loki’s good arm was wrapped securely around her back. Sif had one hand pressed against his beating heart, the other attached to his shoulder, pulling him closer. As he slipped his tongue into her mouth, Sif thought her heart might burst.

 

She wanted this, wanted him. Wanted to wake up with him every morning, build a life together, and spend the rest of it doing everything in her power to keep him happy--with plenty of fighting thrown in, because she couldn’t imagine a life where they didn’t bicker. Constantly. But making up would be so sweet.

 

She wanted to marry him, and be the couple who stayed together against all odds, and never gave nosy neighbors a reason to suspect anything was wrong.

 

Nosy neighbors.

 

Problematic marriages.

 

Sif tore her mouth away from his and said, “That’s what I forgot! Bee also sees Coulson as a patient. I need to call her.”

 

Loki’s head dropped against her collarbone as she pulled her phone out of her back pocket. “Seriously?” he demanded. “A kiss like that, and you’re thinking about _Bee Johnson_? What does it take to get some attention around here?”

 

“I love you,” she said, sliding off the kitchen stool and pressing her phone to her ear as it rang.

 

“You owe me,” he said as she walked into the living room.

 

“Take my fries as payment,” she called over her shoulder.

 

The phone rang for several seconds before Bee answered, sounding breathless. “Sif!” she said, gasping in air. “How are you?”

 

“What are you doing?” Sif asked, hoping she hadn’t just interrupted her friend doing what she and Loki had just been doing.

 

“Jogging. On my treadmill.”

 

Sif prayed that was true. “I, uh, delicate question here. Actually, backstory first. You were over here once, and mentioned Coulson’s practice, which, since he’s housed in a taxidermy shop and it’s not obvious it’s a therapist’s office, I took to mean you were also a patient...client… I’m not really up on the terminology. Anyway, I know you see him, so thought you might want to know that he’s not a licensed therapist.”

 

There was silence on the other end, though Bee’s breathing was becoming more normal. Sif assumed the treadmill had been turned off as she couldn’t hear anything in the background.

 

“...Bee?” Sif asked tentatively.

 

“I’m sorry, _what_?” Bee said.

 

Sif swallowed. Is this what it had felt like for Loki to tell her? “Dr. Coulson isn’t actually a doctor, and he isn’t a real therapist.”

 

Another lengthy pause followed before Bee asked, “And you know this how?”

 

She took a breath. “He told Loki. My boyfriend. And Loki told me. And now I’m telling you, because I don’t...because I think you should know before you see him again.”

 

“Loki?” Bee said. “Dr. Coulson told that two-faced liar before he told you or me?”

 

“Hey now, be nice,” Sif said, reminding herself Bee was hurt, much like Sif had been, and she didn’t mean what she was saying. Another part of Sif’s mind reminded her that Bee had met Loki, so there was a solid chance she did mean what she said.

 

The hazards of dating an ass.

 

“I just can’t believe this,” Bee said. “I mean Loki? Really? That’s who Dr. Coulson told first? How does that make you feel? He’s your therapist.”

 

Both their therapist, but that was neither here nor there, plus Sif was pretty sure Loki would prefer that tidbit be left off. She really needed those two to become friends. “I’m just glad I know,” Sif said diplomatically.

 

“Really? And anyway, why did he tell Loki?”

 

“It was less he told Loki, and more Loki walked in on Dr. Coulson having tea with his mom, and then it all came tumbling out.”

 

There was another pause, then Bee said, “Loki walked in on Dr. Coulson and Dr. Coulson’s mom?”

 

“No, Dr. Coulson and Loki’s mom, Frigga Odinson.”

 

“Frigga Odinson? Wife of the Senator Odin Odinson? Loki is the son of _Odin Odinson?_...Who thought that name was a good idea?”

 

“Not me,” Sif said, certain she’d never name a son after his grandfather.

 

“Wait, are they having an affair?”

 

“What? No! They’re just old friends!”

 

The world would stop turning before Frigga Odinson had an affair. Dump the most attractive, most available man in her lap who lavished her with attention and physical affection, and she wouldn’t even blink. Picture of refined grace, she’d find a way to make him feel a welcome guest in her home, stuff him full of dinner, and send him on his way. It was one of the many things Sif loved about the Odinson matriarch.

 

“Bee, I know this is a lot to take in. Are you okay?”

 

“Um. Yes. No. I have to think about this. I need to go and think about this. I’ll talk to you later.”

 

She hung up, leaving Sif to stare at her phone. She really hoped Mr. Johnson was home and could provide comfort, or at least be a sounding board for Bee.

 

Back in the kitchen, Loki was wiping down the counter. Everything from dinner had been cleared away except the last bit of Sif’s burger. All her fries were gone. “You weren’t supposed to eat them all,” she grumbled, picking up the remains of her burger.

 

“Then don’t end a kiss with thoughts of a woman,” Loki said. “Stay focused, Sif, and enjoy the moment.”

 

“Next time,” she said around the burger in her mouth. She swallowed before continuing. “I couldn’t leave Bee to think her therapist was a therapist when he wasn’t, much like you came running to tell me as soon as you found out.”

 

“Don’t use my thoughtfulness against me,” he said, flicking water in her direction. She wrinkled her nose at him. “Any chance we’re going to pick up where we left off?”

 

Sif pointed at the microwave clock behind his head. “It’s getting late and pushing up against your bedtime. I may be a grown woman, but I’m still scared of your mother’s wrath. I’m taking you home.”

 

Loki sighed dramatically. “Will you two stop treating me like I’m twelve?”

 

“I wasn’t treating you like you were twelve when we were kissing.” She flushed as she said it, but maintained eye contact, enjoying his slow smile. “There will be a repeat performance in the future, so no sulking.”

 

“I’ll hold you to it,” he said lowly, sending shivers up her back.

 

She was so glad he moved back home.

 

*

 

When Sif first mentioned Bee seeing Coulson for therapy, Loki hadn’t thought much of it, beyond being irritated that it put a premature end to their kiss. But later, as he stretched out in bed thinking over the day’s events, he remembered Coulson’s words about Sif being his only client.

 

Either Coulson was lying about his client list, or Nosy Neighborhood Watch Busybody Bee Johnson was lying about her therapy. Loki’s money was on the lonely housewife.

 

Something always seemed off to Loki about that woman; nobody could actually be that interested in patrolling their neighborhood, when the worst thing that happened was busybodies like Bee Johnson moving in. He had no conclusive evidence (yet), but something in his gut said there was more to Bee Johnson than met the eye.

 

So he ran a background check on her last Friday. The in-depth background checks he was used to running took close to a month to be completed, but it was now Wednesday, and he held the results in his hand.

 

There wasn’t much there. Bee Johnson was born the same year as he and Sif, grew up in Atlanta, attended G.W. Carver High and Georgia Tech, and was married some three years ago.

 

That was it.

 

Loki had run his share of background checks during his tenure as a lawyer, and he was used to getting information on speeding tickets, overdue library books, previous jobs, and family relations, just to name a few. Though there were varying degrees of background checks that could be run, he always chose the most thorough, because you never knew when a miniscule piece of information could solidify your case. To have such an in-depth check be returned so quickly was suspicious enough, but coupled with the lack of information, Loki was forming several unsavory conclusions about his irritating neighbor.

 

Options:

 

Bee Johnson was an alias

Bee Johnson was a repressed woman who really hadn’t done anything in her life

Bee Johnson worked for _Agent_ Coulson

Bee Johnson was the threat _Agent_ Coulson was worried about

Bee Johnson had nothing whatsoever to do with _Agent_ Coulson, but was involved in something else equally nefarious

 

But no matter what she was, he was positive Bee Johnson could not be good for Sif. That many uncertainties and lies surrounding one person could only end in eventual disaster, and his good woman had suffered enough.

 

Informing his boss he was heading out to meet a client, Loki got in his car and drove to Miz Johnson’s house.

 

As he knocked on the door, he really hoped Sif wasn’t across the street watching. She would come to all the wrong conclusions and then he’d have to do damage control, which was hard enough when you didn’t already have a reputation for lying.

 

Bee answered the door, looking freshly put together despite it being one in the afternoon. Her blonde hair cascaded in curls around a perfectly makeupped face, bright red lips greeting him in a smile. Nothing was smudged and everything was perky. She really did look the part of a Southern housewife.

 

“Mr. Odinson! How may I help you?” she asked. “Would you like to come in? I just made some fresh-squeezed lemonade.”

 

It was the sort of thing his mother would say. Frigga was always more comfortable when her guests accepted her hospitality, so Loki agreed and Bee led him to her kitchen.

 

The whole thing looked like it came straight from the 50’s. The walls were papered with roosters; the appliances were all short, rounded, and white; the table was circular, a gross yellow plastic Loki hadn’t seen since he was in first grade, with matching plastic chairs, the kind with small backs and metal legs. Plants and rooster-themed knick-knacks decorated every sill and open counter top, and there was a distinct vinyl smell that permeated the space.

 

Loki was beginning to suspect more and more that she was a suppressed housewife trying to relive the glory days of the 50s. Perhaps he ought to track down Mr. Johnson and see what sort of man expected a woman to live like this in the 21st century.

 

“Well, what can I do you for, Mr. Odinson?” Bee asked, pouring him a tall glass of lemonade.

 

“There’s something wrong with you,” he said, accepting the glass and sitting at her table. The chair squeaked exactly like he imagined it would, the vinyl shifting under his weight. He’d hate to sit in this chair in shorts. He took a sip of the lemonade; it was amazing, the perfect mix of sour and sweet, with an aftertaste that left his tongue craving more. Whatever magic she’d wrought on this drink, she needed to teach it to Sif.

 

“Hmm, yes, Sif has said you’ve a way with words that leaves the recipient wishing to smack you.”

 

He knew it was meant as an insult, but he was pleased Sif was talking about him. She could say whatever she wanted so long as he was at the forefront of her mind. “You put on a great show for being the perfect housewife. What I can’t figure out is is it actually a show, or is your husband so controlling this is just who you are?”

 

Bee narrowed her eyes, crossing her arms under her breasts. “Did you come into my home just to insult me?” she asked.

 

“You invited me in,” he reminded her.

 

“Out of neighborly kindness, but if you’re going to act like this, I can invite you back out.”

 

“What does your husband do for a living?” he asked, switching tactics.

 

She gave him an assessing look, probably trying to determine his sincerity, so Loki put on his best _trust me_ face. Sif and his mother never bought it, but it was wildly successful with other people. He must have passed muster, because Bee dropped her arms and said, “He works in the private sector.”

 

When she didn’t say anything further, Loki prompted her with, “In…?”

 

“The private sector,” Bee said, suddenly looking nervous.

 

“ _I_ work in the private sector,” Loki told her, “but that doesn’t actually tell you what I do.”

 

She offered him a helpless shrug, then turned to grab a jar of cookies. “Cookies?” she asked brightly, white smile showing none of her previous nervousness.

 

“Bee,” he said patiently. “What does your husband do for a living?”

 

“You know, it’s none of your business,” she snapped, slamming the cookie jar on the table. “I don’t know why all you neighborhood sorts keep thinking what goes on in our family is any of your business.”

 

Loki raised a brow. “Normally I wouldn’t give a rat’s ass about you or yours,” he told her coolly, “but you have insisted on befriending Sif, which makes you my concern; you’ve initiated this ridiculous neighborhood watch, which gives you ample opportunity to pester and spy on the rest of us; and you’ve been nothing but suspicious since day one, which, in light of recent discoveries I’ve made, has made me start wondering about you. Now you can either start talking, or I’ll start sharing my concerns with Sif, and I’ll let her do the dirty work for me. And while I can be quite the ass, she is far scarier when she’s angry.”

 

Bee’s arms were once again crossed, her smile long gone, her warm hospitality replaced with a cold demeanor. “Get out of my house.”

 

Loki stood. “Gladly, Bee Johnson of Atlanta, Georgia, with no known maiden name or family affiliation.”

 

Something flashed across her face, but Loki didn’t stay to investigate, letting himself out the front door and slamming it for good effect.

 

Standing across the street, facing Sif’s house, were two men, one taller than the other. Were those the two men who accosted Sif last week…?

 

Marching across the street, Loki tapped on their shoulders. “Are you aware you look like a pair of creepers?”

 

The two men whirled to face him, both faces pictures of surprise, though the shorter man quickly dropped his face into a glower. On first glance, he’d seemed an amiable man, but with that scowl painted on, his was a face only a mother could love.

 

“Odinson,” the shorter man growled. How civilized.

 

“The street may be public space, but I doubt Ms. Schelder appreciates having you stare at her house like you’re assessing the best way to break in. Move along before I call the police.”

 

The shorter man looked ready to argue, but his taller friend grabbed him by the arm and towed him off, with a murmured “Thank you” directed at Loki.

 

There was something about those two that looked familiar. Loki couldn’t quite place it, but he was sure he’d seen both of them somewhere before.

 

This place was getting stranger and stranger. Between Coulson’s reveal, Bee Johnson’s suspicious past, and these two lurkers, Loki was beginning to think Bee’s neighborhood watch wasn’t such a terrible idea. He’d feel a lot better knowing Sif had someone keeping an eye on her. Not that she couldn’t take care of herself--he had a lifetime of memories, broken bones, and bruises to prove that she could--but he didn’t want her to be in a situation where she had to.

 

Pulling out his phone, Loki made a quick call. “Father, I’ve got a question…”

 

*

 

Loki arrived at Sif’s house after work, Chinese takeout in hand. “Well, this is a surprise,” she said as she let him in. “I thought you were done having me hover over your every move.”

 

“Eating dinner with you does not qualify as hovering,” he said.

 

“Isn’t tonight your mother’s last night here before she flies back to D.C.?” Sif asked.

 

Loki shrugged. “I told her I wanted to eat alone with you, and since our union has been her sole desire since we were children, she practically shoved me out the door to accomplish the deed.” Loki frowned. “If I were to marry you and divorce you, I honestly think she’d legally emancipate me and adopt you instead.”

 

“It’s because I’m better than you,” Sif said, punctuating the comment with a kiss. She took the Chinese and set it on the table while he poured glasses of water. It was all quaintly domestic, which Loki found he didn’t mind at all. “Has she really been gunning for us since we were kids?” Sif asked as she pulled out napkins.

 

“More or less,” Loki said, not feeling the need to inform her that she spent the first several years vacillating back and forth between him and Thor as a suitable match for Sif. He hated that Thor had ever even been in the running.

 

Somewhere along the line Frigga settled on the Loki side of things, but when Sif and Thor began dating, her mind had been open to the possibility of them growing old together. Loki had been extremely bitter about it.

  

They said grace and started eating, Sif taking the sesame chicken and beef and broccoli, leaving him with the beef lo mein. She didn’t even pretend to use chopsticks, bypassing them in favor of a fork. Loki had learned in college how to use chopsticks, and always made a point to use them, mostly so he could feel superior to his dinner partners.

 

He asked her about her day and listened as she prattled on about weight-lifting and jogging in between taking bites. He wanted to make sure she was full and content before bringing up the issue of her friendship with Bee. She wasn’t going to be happy with him, but at least her displeasure wouldn’t be fueled by an empty stomach.

 

As the meal was nearing its end, Loki set down his chopsticks. “Uh-oh,” Sif said. “I know that look. Can’t we just skip whatever it is you’re about to say that’s going to make me mad?”

 

“I fed you first so you’d be less mad,” he pointed out.

 

She shook her head. “I _knew_ this meal was a ruse.”

 

“I’ll kiss you afterward to soften the blow.”

 

“ _If_ I let you kiss me,” she said. “I may be too angry to allow it.”

 

That was more likely. Still, it had to be done. “It’s about Bee, and you’re not going to like it.”

 

“Then don’t say it,” she said, stuffing the last piece of broccoli into her mouth.

 

“She’s not a patient of Coulson’s.”

 

Sif paused mid-chew, staring at him. “Excuse me?” she asked around her mouthful of food. So uncivilized.

 

“Coulson told me you were his only patient.”

 

Her mouth closed and she resumed chewing. Giving her the space she needed to process this, Loki finished his beef lo mein and started cleaning up. As he was tossing his empty containers in the trash, Sif spoke up. “Maybe he was protecting her privacy by not admitting he had a second client.”

 

She was being naive. Turning to face her, Loki said, “Or maybe she didn’t use him as a therapist.”

 

“Can’t you give her the benefit of the doubt?” Sif asked, scowling. “Not everyone is out to get us, you know.”

 

He sighed. “I ran a background check on her, but there isn’t any information. None, Sif. Name, birthplace, high school, college. _That’s it_. I’ve run enough background checks in my life to know something suspicious when I see it. It’s like someone created an identity for her with just enough information to pass glancing inspection and nothing else.”

 

Sif pushed her chair back, throwing her hands up. “What am I supposed to say to that?” she demanded.

 

“Anything you like.”

 

She pursed her lips, then said, “What is wrong with you that your first inclination is to run a background check on her? She started the neighborhood watch, for crying out loud!”

 

“Yes, which was the first thing to mark her as highly suspicious! Who in their right mind would care about a neighborhood watch in sleepy Vanaheim, Georgia?”

 

“Bee, that’s who!”

 

He growled. “The bigger issue here is she knows who Coulson is, but _wasn’t a client._ ”

 

“I know!” Sif shouted. “I know that’s a problem, but I don’t want it to be because she’s my friend and I want to actually have a friend and not question every person I know, but I feel like that’s all I’m doing since you and I reconnected. Who’s next? Volstagg? Is he secretly some sort of Viking warrior who kills people for sport? Fandral? Secret service for the British government? Jane? World-renowned scientist gone undercover to study human behavior in small towns?”

 

Walking back to the table, Loki took his seat again. “I don’t know what it means, but when I asked her about it she got nervous and threw me out.”

 

Sif buried her head in her hands. “Oh my lands, _please_ tell me you did not confront her about it.”

 

“Of course I did,” he said, a touch snidely. “I was hoping to ferret out the truth.”

 

“ _Why_?”

 

“Because you’re friends with her, and I care about you and don’t want you getting hurt.”

 

She looked up at him, anger making her eyes bright. “Yes, but you’re _terrible_ with people. You should have told me first and let me try to talk to her. I at least would have been considerate. I mean, what if you’re wrong? Or what if it’s something sensitive and we’re stepping on her privacy?”

 

“Like what?”

 

“I don’t know!” she yelled. “But it could have been! And maybe she’s hurting and we’re poking at a wound and making it worse and _oh my gosh Loki she’s been lying to me this whole time._ ”

 

Sif burst into tears, which Loki had not been expecting, though given the frequency with which Jane was weeping these days, perhaps he ought to have. Women did seem to cry over the most unexpected things.

 

They relocated to the couch, where he pulled her into his lap. She buried her head in his left shoulder and leaked tears all over his clothes, which he was busy pretending didn’t bother him. Rubbing her back gently with his left arm, he made quiet shushing noises.

 

“Why is everyone always lying to me?” she asked through her tears. “Why is it so hard to tell the truth?”

 

Definitely not going to touch that landmine.

 

He waited for her tears run their course, enjoying the feel of holding her. Crying wasn’t so bad when this was the result. Nuzzling her hair, he thought he could get used to this. Of course, it wouldn’t work if he was the one making her cry, which was a problem, because he was sure it would be his fault more often than not. But he could work around that.

 

When at last the tears subsided and the sniffles stopped, Sif said, “So what did Bee say when you confronted her?”

 

“She kicked me out.”

 

Sif nodded like it made sense.

 

“What does this mean?” she asked. “Is Bee Bee, or is Bee someone else? Can I trust her? Should I trust her?”

 

“Maybe we should ask Coulson.”

 

Sif tapped her lower lip. “That’s actually not a bad idea.”

 

So they planned a dinner party.

  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For the record, this was originally supposed to be a 5 chapter story. I'm not sure what happened. :) But the end is fast approaching! Two more chapters and an epilogue. The end is in sight!


	15. Every Word You Say, Every Game You Play

With no more therapy to attend, Sif channeled all her her energy into cleaning her house. Who knew when it had last been deep cleaned; Aunt Win had always kept a clean home, but deep cleaning was not part of that equation. The baseboards had definitely seen better days.

 

So had the inside of the Romance Novel Closet. Sif didn’t want to think about how many dead spiders she found in there, never mind the living ones.

 

Mostly, though, she was excited she could deep clean her house without having to stop and rest on the couch or clutch any body part in pain. She was finally completely healed, and reveled in every sweaty second of it.

 

The dinner party was to be held at her place. Loki’s house was a better venue, but Jane lived there, and by mutual agreement they didn’t want to involve her in the mess.

 

Also by mutual agreement, Loki was making all the food. Sif, though a capable cook, didn’t measure up to Odinson Dinner Party Standards™. As Loki so kindly pointed out, her idea of a good dessert was Twinkie pie. As Sif had no interest in making anything more fancy than said Twinkie pie, she didn’t put up any resistance, happy to let Loki take the helm.

 

Especially since letting him cook meant she got to sit at the counter and watch him, her new favorite pastime. Frigga and Odin made a gorgeous child, and she was happy to appreciate their hard work.

 

Coulson had accepted their invitation without any hesitation. Sif figured he knew he owed her a massive explanation, and what better way to offer it than while eating delicious food? (At least, that would have been reason enough for her. Food made everything better.) Bee, on the other hand, took a lot more convincing, and it wasn’t until Sif announced Coulson would be there that Bee agreed, and even then it was after she went quiet and thought about it for several minutes.

 

There had been much debate about whether or not to invite Bee, but Loki said it would kill two birds with one stone, and maybe the other’s presence would lead to confessions they wouldn’t share on their own. Sif, concerned that Loki phrased it in terms of killing, decided she didn’t want him having private interactions with Bee. Much better to have Sif present and prevent any potential harmful mishaps.

 

Also aware that she was a bit volatile at the moment, Sif decided confronting Bee in front of Coulson ensured everyone’s safety.

 

She was so bitter that man wasn’t a real therapist. She’d genuinely liked him.

 

Dress code for the evening was Odinson formal. Normally Sif wouldn’t approve evening wear for a dinner party in her house, but she was selfish and wanted to stare at Loki in a suit all evening. It had the added side effect of keeping him happy, because as a product of Frigga, Loki genuinely believed a dinner party wasn’t a dinner party unless it was black tie.

 

She was going to have to break him of that. Her friends were more the _wear jeans until I die_ type, and there was no way she was getting Volstagg to come over for dinner if he had to dress up.

 

Dinner had been scheduled for Friday, and Sif was now sitting in her purple dress at the counter, watching Loki as he bent over to retrieve the baked ziti from the oven. A man cooking in a three piece suit should become an Olympic sport. Women would flock to watch that.

 

“Your oven runs hot,” Loki said, frowning at the pan as he set it on the stove. “My cheese is burnt.”

 

“Uh-huh,” Sif said, a little distracted with the way his vest hugged his sides. He didn’t even need the jacket, though when he added it later she would sure appreciate its presence.

 

“Sif,” Loki said, “my eyes are up here.” And what a pair of eyes he had. Was everything about him beautiful, or was Sif just in love? “This is why we’re sitting beside each other at dinner,” Loki said, rolling his beautiful eyes. “Otherwise you’ll spend the whole evening distracted and it will defeat the point of interrogating our guests.”

 

Sif wasn’t so sure sitting beside Loki would be _less_ of a distraction. “I might be better off sitting next to Thor at dinner,” she told him.

 

Loki raised a cool brow. “Thor’s in Afghanistan.”

 

“And that’s why it might be effective,” she said. “Can I help with anything?”

 

He pointed at her oven. “Get that stupid thing fixed.”

 

She could do that. Pulling out her phone, Sif googled local oven repairmen. “It worked fine for me when I made Twinkie pie.”

 

Turning off the oven, Loki said, “Is that the list time you turned this thing on?”

 

“Uhhh, yeah. Probably.”

 

He shook his head. “What do you even eat?”

 

“Food your mom made, food you buy for me, and food I buy for myself from Heimdall’s. Oh! And whatever Volstagg and Hilde feed me.”

 

He shook his head again. “How are you not grossly overweight?”

 

“Hey, I can cook. I just...haven’t. Since the accident.” He just looked at her as he picked up the ziti and carried it to her properly set dining room table. “If you marry me, I promise I’ll start cooking again,” she told him.

 

“I can’t tell if that’s a threat or something to look forward to,” he said.

 

“I should cook for you just to refine your palate,” she said. “Twinkie pie is a food from the gods.”

 

He muttered something under his breath that she was sure was flattering. With a smile, Sif grabbed the chilled sparkling cider from the fridge and started pouring.

 

It was all very domestic, him cooking, her staring at him cooking, and the both of them setting the table together. It gave Sif a different kind of pleasant tingle in her stomach, one that made the future feel bright, like things were cohesive and they belonged together. It was safety, happiness, home, and the surety that every fight would end with an _I love you_. It felt like family.

 

It reminded her of how she used to feel when she was home with Aunt Win.

 

Ducking her head, Sif hid a contented smile.

 

The doorbell rang, and Sif exchanged a look with Loki. This was it. Loki slid on his dinner jacket before they answered the door together.

 

The door opened, and Sif came up short. This...was not what she had expected.

 

She’d expected Coulson, in a suit, blue this time, with his black frame glasses perched on his nose. She wasn’t surprised to see him carrying a small bouquet of flowers; any man who was friends with Frigga was either well-bred or had been well trained by her.

 

She’d expected Bee, in a stunning golden Greek dress which weirdly matched the shade of her hair, holding a bottle of something alcoholic that Sif thought was red wine.

 

She hadn’t expected them together.

 

And she _really_ hadn’t expected to see Hunter with them, looking casual in khakis and a white t-shirt underneath a black leather jacket, considering he _hadn’t been invited._

 

“I hope you don’t mind I brought backup,” Coulson said.

 

“No,” Loki said firmly. “That one” he jerked his thumb at Hunter “is not welcome. Especially not dressed like he’s some 1950’s greaser.”

 

“Aw, c’mon, mate,” Hunter said, draping an arm around Bee, who promptly pushed him off, “you know you love me.”

 

“If by love you mean you’re the ant to my boot, then yes, that’s what I meant.”

 

Sif elbowed Loki and hissed “ _be nice_ ” at him.

 

He elbowed her back and said, “No.”

 

“Of course you’re welcome,” Sif said, opening the door to allow the group entry, but Loki intercepted Hunter and blocked his path, frowning his patented I’m Southern Nobility and You’re Pond Scum frown.

 

“This,” Loki said, gesturing to Hunter’s outfit, “is not welcome. If you insist on letting him in, he will march himself back home and change into civilized clothing so he is sartorially appropriate, at which point I will reluctantly allow him entrance, though not without a great many distressed sighs.”

 

Sif turned to Hunter. “That is the greatest concession you’re getting out of Prince Snob here, so I’d take it and run.”

 

Hunter saluted, about-faced, and ran across the street to Bee’s house.

 

For the second time in five minutes, Sif found herself at a loss.

 

“Please tell me he’s not the missing husband,” Loki said.

 

“Husband might be a strong word, but I think you’ll be interested in his story,” Coulson said as he handed Sif the flowers, which Loki plucked from her grasp and put in a vase.

 

This was all a bit much for Sif. Five minutes ago she thought she didn’t know anybody, but now she thought she might know everybody in the whole damn world. “I swear,” she said, sitting herself at her dining room table, “if Volstagg and Fandral have secret lives, I’m quitting and moving to Budapest or, or, Nepal or something.”

 

“You have a lovely home,” Coulson told her. She glared at him.

 

“Shut up and sit down,” she said peevishly.

 

It didn’t take Hunter long to change and return, looking remarkably James Bond for someone who’d just been James Dean. He seated himself at the head of the table, where Loki had hurriedly set an extra plate. Sif, feeling petulant, was glaring at nothing with her arms folded.

 

Once they were all seated, Coulson said, “I’m sure you--”

 

But Sif cut him off. “As a friend of Frigga’s, surely you know we don’t hit anything heavy until after the salad course,” she said a touch too sweetly as she stabbed viciously at her lettuce or kale or whatever green thing Loki had set on her plate.

 

The salad course was passed in silence, though it went quickly. As soon as Loki broke the cheese crust of the baked ziti, Coulson opened his mouth again. “Perhaps we ought to explain,” he started, but Sif cut him off again.

 

Facing Bee, Sif pointed at Coulson and demanded, “Do you work for him?”

 

“Yes,” Bee said, and Sif wished she had a spare tomato to fling and her erstwhile friend.

 

“So, what, everything was staged?” Sif demanded as Loki slopped pasta onto everyone’s plates. “Our friendship isn’t even real? Your husband isn’t cheating on you? Is he even your husband? Or is there some other guy we don’t know about who’s your actual husband? Or are you even married? Who was that man I waved at months ago? And what about the neighborhood watch, huh? I joined that stupid thing for you! I didn’t even want to!”

 

“Would you calm down?” Bee said, sounding annoyed. “You’re acting like a child.”

 

“ _I’m_ acting like a child?” Sif demanded. “You’re the one who faked a friendship just to keep an eye on my boyfriend!”

 

“The way I heard it, you invited her in and tried making her into a project,” Hunter interjected. “This is really good. Who made it?”

 

Sif was never making another friend ever. She was going to keep the ones she made in high school and arrest her social life until she died. Everyone sucked.

 

“Can we just explain without getting interrupted?” Bee asked, and Sif wondered how she’d ever found this woman to be perky.

 

“I think you’d better,” Loki said. “I know that look; Sif is moments away from flinging her entree at you.”

 

That almost made her smile. Loki had witnessed more than one food fight. Or food tantrum, as Aunt Win sometimes called them. But he was also right. Setting down her fork, Sif sat on her hands lest she do something she’d later regret.

 

“We’re here to keep an eye on Loki,” Bee said. “We were hired to protect him from any threat made against the Senator’s family.” Sif bitterly regretted laughing at Odin’s name with this woman. Odin was family and Bee was...well, she was named after a stupid winged insect. “We weren’t planning on the therapist angle being used at all, instead planting me and Lance as some happy-go-lucky suburban couple. The neighborhood watch was a great cover to keep an eye on the Odinson house--or it would have been, if anybody would have bought into it.”

 

She had a point. If Bee could have got the entire neighborhood to spy on each other, half her job would have been taken care of. Now Sif was regretting ever giving Loki flak about avoiding the stupid watch; she should have boycotted with him.

 

“Good thing your neighborhood watch plan was so successful,” Loki said with a perfectly straight face.

 

Bee scowled. “A neighborhood watch was a great idea--get everyone else to keep eyes on Loki for me. But I underestimated the stubbornness of people living here. What do you people have against neighbors watching out for one another? Watches are practically a suburban requirement!”

 

Loki snorted. “The most dangerous thing that has ever happened here is old Mr. Kurse yelling at kids to stay off his lawn.”

 

“Not true,” Bee said, taking a bite of the baked ziti. “Oh, wow, this is good. Who made it?”

 

“Who’s Lance?” Sif interrupted.

 

Hunter raised his hand. “It’s my first name,” he said.

 

Huh. She’d thought Hunter was his first name.

 

“What do you mean I’m wrong?” Loki asked, eyes glinting.

 

Bee shrugged. “I have it on good authority from at least three different sources that the most dangerous thing to happen to this neighborhood was you, Sif, and your brother feuding.”

 

Sif and Loki looked at each other and shrugged. It was probably true.

 

“Now that that’s settled,” Coulson said, “I--”

 

Again, Sif spoke over him, talking to Bee. “Are you even married?”

 

Bee and Hunter looked at each other. “No” she said while he said “yes.” Then they switched. “Yes” she said as he said “no.”

 

“I wish you two would figure that out,” Coulson said. “And this is really good. My compliments to the chef.”

 

“That isn’t an answer!” Sif cried, slamming her hands on the table. “Either you’re married or you’re not!”

 

“Well, we never got divorced,” Hunter said. “And we’re on a bit of an upswing at the moment. I owe that to you two, really. That restaurant was a big hit.”

 

“This is why we shouldn’t meet other people,” Loki told her, and she was inclined to agree.

 

Pointing at Hunter, Sif asked Bee, “Is he even cheating on you?”

 

Hunter swung his head around to look at Bee. “Cheating? Is that what you’ve been telling her? Bloody hell, Bobbi, way to paint me as a villain.”

 

Bee turned to face him, setting down her fork. “It came up, and I ran with it.”

 

“You’re supposed to stick with the plan,” Hunter said.

 

“Until someone throws you a curveball, and then you’re supposed to improvise!” Bee retorted.

 

“Not if that curveball means throwing me under the bus!”

 

This time it was Loki who interrupted. “Your name is Bobbi?” he asked, a strange smile on his face. At Bee’s--Bobbi’s--nod, he turned to Coulson. “ _She_ managed to get undercover right--fake name and everything.”

 

“I’m not drunk enough for this conversation,” Hunter said, reaching for the unopened bottle of wine Bee--Bobbi--had brought. He started filling glasses, but Loki intervened with the comment that he and Sif didn’t drink.

 

Bee--Bobbi--looked on in disbelief. “I’ve read your file,” she said. “I know this is your favorite wine.”

 

“Was,” Loki said. Affection washed over Sif; in the midst of all this madness, at least she still had Loki, who could be surprisingly sweet. Reaching under the table, she found his knee and gently squeezed.

 

Bee--Bobbi--Sif was never going to get used to this--gave a mocking aww. “You two are sickeningly sweet. It’s disgusting,” she informed them.

 

Sickeningly sweet? Loki? She’d met the man, right? Occasionally thoughtful, sure, but _sickeningly_ sweet?

 

At Sif’s expression, Bee--Bobbi--said, “He stares at you like you’re the sun, moon, and stars. It’d be gross if it wasn’t so...sweet.”

 

Had any other person said that, Sif would be glowing with the comment. But it sounded so unlike the Bee she knew, it just made Sif sad. Was their entire friendship a joke? Had any part of...Bobbi...been genuine? She remembered...Bobbi’s…help in getting ready for her first date with Loki. Had that been a show?

 

“I know I’m not drunk enough for that expression,” Hunter said, tipping his wine glass at Sif. “What did you do to her, love?”

 

“My job,” Bee--Bobbi said evenly.

 

That stung. Apparently their friendship had just been for show. Sif regretted every moment she’d spent with this woman, from trying to get her stupid neighborhood watch up and running to tasting her stupid muffins to listening to her talk about her mysterious husband, who wasn’t so mysterious after all.

 

Sif remembered why she’d only been friends with boys in high school. She ought to go back to that.

 

“Why are you even here?” Sif asked. “Why tell us now who you are and what you’re doing?”

 

Coulson answered, and Sif finally let him. “We were content to do our jobs in the background, but with Loki’s car accident, we decided it was time to announce ourselves. There’s been enough skulking about this neighborhood; we didn’t need to add our names to the list.”

 

Sif flushed, sure he was referring to her many skulking excursions along the fence separating her house from Loki’s. How embarrassing.

 

“Ah, yes, the car accident,” Loki said, sounding calm and collected. He was handling everything surprisingly well. Sif was more used to a flash of temper from him, but maybe he only showed that side of himself to her, and handled everyone else with cool disdain. But that wasn’t true; Coulson had seen Loki sulk. She really wished she knew what was going on in his head. “You haven’t connected it to a specific threat made to my father’s office, have you?” he asked.

 

“Not yet, but we haven’t ruled anything out,” Coulson said.

 

“Hm,” Loki said, the topic clearly closed. Sif desperately wished she could be that cool; all she wanted to do was fling her dinner at her guests.

 

Sitting on her hands wasn’t really helping; both arms had fallen asleep, and Sif still wanted to fling her food. Sitting across from Bobbi had been a mistake; she kept looking at her former friend and getting angry all over again. Tingles shot up her arms as Sif moved her hands, grabbed her napkin and dabbed at her mouth. “Excuse me,” she said, and removed herself to the front porch.

 

Bobbi followed her, sitting in the rocker across from Sif. Sif ignored her, staring instead at Loki’s house, wondering what Jane was doing home alone on a Friday evening and wishing she could join her. Bobbi, not taking the hint that Sif wanted to be alone, started talking.

 

“Sif, talk to me,” Bobbi said, and Sif swore off speaking forever if it would get her out of this conversation. “I’m not really sorry because I was doing my job,” Bobbi said, “but I am sorry it soured things between us. I would rather not lose your friendship; I really like you.”

 

Because she was twelve on the inside, Sif snidely thought, _Then why don’t you marry me?_ and was grateful no one could hear her thoughts.

 

“You know,” Sif said, still not looking at Bobbi (so much for not speaking), “it’s because you aren’t sorry that I’m mad. Would it kill you to apologize?”

 

“Maybe,” Bobbi said. “It’s one of Hunter’s prime complaints against me.”

 

Bobbi and Hunter. Now that was an image Sif couldn’t get out of her head. “Is he really the elusive Mr. Johnson?” Sif asked, side-eyeing the woman.

 

Bobbi shrugged. “We were going to be the happy married couple everyone is jealous of, but then you met him at the practice and that threw a wrench in our plans.”

 

That stupid practice. No wonder Hunter had looked like a fish out of water when Sif showed up.

 

“I don’t like that you only befriended me to spy on my boyfriend,” Sif said.

 

“In all fairness, he wasn’t your boyfriend when I started,” Bobbi said.

 

“I don’t like that I thought of you as an actual friend.”

 

“I do,” Bobbi said.

 

“And I really don’t like that I might cry in a second,” Sif said, attempting to surreptitiously wipe away a stray tear.

 

Bobbi didn’t comment on the tear, staring instead at the night sky. “You’re good people, Sif,” she said. “If Loki doesn’t know how lucky he is to have you, then someone should hit that man upside the head with a shovel until he corrects his thinking.” She wasn’t wrong; however, Sif wished someone would recognize how lucky she was to have Loki. Being with your childhood friend made dating easier; he already knew everything about her, and he was pretty good at reading her moods when words failed her, which they did. Often.

 

She might never admit it out loud, but he made life without Aunt Win bearable. She was the lucky one.

 

“You don’t know it, but you’re the reason Hunter and I are still together,” Bobbi continued. “I saw how you were with Mr. Prissy Pants, and when you told me about the whole lying-about-being-married bit, it occurred to me that maybe I should fight for my relationship instead of giving up and letting go, which is what we usually do. If you could forgive Loki, then maybe I could forgive Lance. Or he could forgive me.”

 

Sif was pretty sure she’d never been an inspiration to anyone before, except maybe an inspiration to Loki and Thor on how best to exact revenge. It was kind of nice to hear, and made her a little less angry at Bobbi.

 

But only a little. “I don’t know what I’m more upset about: you aren’t you, or you lying about the cheating husband bit.”

 

Bobbi turned to face her. “I lied about everything, and _that’s_ the thing you’re focusing on?”

 

“I was concerned for you!”

 

“Yet another reason why I like you,” Bobbi said. “You actually were concerned. You’re not very good at being subtle, by the way. If I actually had a cheating husband, you probably would have reduced me to tears ten times over with your non-subtle questioning. But I like where your heart’s at.”

 

They were quiet a moment, both contemplating the sky while sneaking glances at each other. Sif didn’t know what to feel.

 

But she did have a question. “Is Loki really in danger?” she asked quietly.

 

Bobbi shrugged, not quite looking at her. “Not as far as we can tell, but that doesn’t mean you shouldn’t be cautious. Vanaheim may be a quiet town, but bad things can happen in quiet places.”

 

Sif propped her chin on her hands, redirecting her gaze to the street. “I like you,” she confessed, “which is why I’m so upset. I don’t know what this means, Bee...Bobbi…but I need time. I’ve got to figure things out.”

 

Bobbi nodded. “I get it. And when you’re done contemplating things, you know where to find me.”

 

“Being the only member of the neighborhood watch?”

 

“You know, weird things happen in this neighborhood at night,” Bobbi said. “You should take a 3am walk sometime.”

 

Waving her hand, Sif said, “We all know about the Laufeys’ late night nude strolls. We’ve all agreed to ignore it, because otherwise someone might have to talk to them and see something.”

 

“Huh,” Bobbi said. “That’s one way to deal with a problem.” There was a moment of contemplative silence before she added, “And hey, if you get around to deciding I’m not the devil, I hear you’re pretty good in a fight. I’m not so bad myself; I’d love to go a round sometime.”

 

“We’ll see.”

 

Sif smiled. It was small, but it was something.

 

**

 

After the guests were gone and the dishes done, Sif curled up on her couch with Loki. She was playing with his fingers when she noticed he was missing something. “Where’s your sling?” she asked. “You haven’t worn it all day.”

 

“I’ll be--”

 

“Say fine and I’ll give you reason to wear it.”

 

He said nothing, instead burying his cast-free hand in her hair. She sighed as he dug his fingers into her scalp. “That feels good,” she murmured, closing her eyes, “but you still have to wear the sling. The doctor said six weeks, and you’ve got about four more to go.”

 

He grumbled something disparaging, but Sif knew he’d be wearing the sling tomorrow. He wasn’t a complete idiot.

 

The rest of dinner had gone well. They’d told Coulson they for sure weren’t returning, which, to everyone’s surprise, upset Hunter the most. He’d get over it, of course, but Sif was touched that he cared. Coulson hadn’t been surprised, merely expressing regret at the end of their acquaintance. Sif had almost started crying at that, but Loki masterfully redirected the conversation to speak of lighter things.

 

Loki should have been more upset than Sif at recent events as Coulson and crew were in town specifically to keep an eye on him, but he was taking everything in stride. He hadn’t needed to excuse himself at dinner, hadn’t raised his voice, hadn’t pitched a fit. Maybe he was finally growing up, and Sif needed to catch up lest he win the maturity game.

 

And that right there was why she was currently losing.

 

“You okay?” Loki asked her, lips ghosting along her temple.

 

“I will be,” she said grumpily. “I don’t like that I like her.”

 

“I don’t like that you like her, either,” he said. Sif rolled her eyes. “But if you really like her, this, too, shall pass, and you can renew your friendship after an appropriate period of mourning has been completed.”

 

He sounded so archaic when he spoke like that. She kind of loved it. “She’s still pursuing the neighborhood watch, you know,” Sif said. “It’s a great community-approved way to spy on you.”

 

Loki's fingers traveled from her scalp to dance along her arm, leaving goosebumps in their wake. She needed to put an end to this if she didn’t want to accidentally gift Frigga an out-of-wedlock grandchild. But in five more minutes; it felt too good to stop just yet.

 

“At least there’s not a threat against you,” she murmured, falling into the feel of his hand. “The accident was probably just a hit and run.”

 

“Yes, that makes me feel so much safer,” he said.

 

“You’ll be fine--least, you will be if you wear your sling.” Turning her head, she reached up to kiss under his jaw. “And it makes me feel better. I don’t like you being hurt. Not to mention I’d have to become your personal bodyguard if there was an actual threat against your life.”

 

“Sif, the fearsome warrior,” he said, and she liked the way those words sounded in his voice. “None would dare molest me.”

 

“Don’t make it weird.”

 

“Fine. None would dare harass me.”

 

“Better,” she stated, snuggling into his chest. She could live here, in his arms. She didn’t need a big house; all those extra rooms she had were superfluous when this was where she wanted to stay.

 

What would the post office say about that change of address? Surely in a town this small, it wouldn’t be the weirdest request they’d had. The thought made her smile.

 

“You should go home,” she said, already regretting the words. “I bet Jane is lonely.”

 

“Mm,” he agreed, running his nose down the side of her face. “I love you.”

 

If taking 45 minutes to kiss goodnight was going to become a thing, she’d have to start kicking him out earlier, she thought some time later as they stood on her front porch. He was far too talented with his...everything. If he ever started kissing her during arguments, he’d win every fight.

 

“Wear your sling,” she said, pushing him down the steps.

 

“Only if you promise not to renew your friendship with Bobbi. I refuse to have couples dates with that excrement she calls husband.”

 

Sif rolled her eyes. “Love you.”

 

“I know.”

 

She didn’t even try to stop the satisfied smile working its way across her face.

 

*

 

Saturday morning dawned slightly chilly, the feel of fall in the air. Loki bundled up in a hoodie on his way out the door. If he were in New York, it would be much colder already and he’d have to give up running out of doors. Then again, if he was still in New York, he never would have started jogging outside. He missed the privacy of the company owned gym.

 

Bobbi and Hunter were just returning from the gym, based on their sweaty attire. Bobbi nodded in Loki’s direction; he considered flipping her off, but wasn’t quite sure how Sif would take it, so he settled with ignoring the woman.

 

Last night had been Sif’s night to have feelings, meaning Loki remained aloof and didn’t react to anything, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t displeased with the situation. Having a private security detail didn’t annoy him half so much as having said private security invade his personal life. If Coulson and crew had remained on the periphery, Loki wouldn’t have minded in the slightest. He might even have condescended to being touched that his parents cared about his safety.

 

But after meeting with Coulson repeatedly over the past weeks (now months) and grudgingly liking the man, Loki was having actual feelings over the situation, which he found distasteful. One’s opinions on one’s security should be limited to _I’m not dead yet so they must be all right_ or _I’m dying and/or dead, therefore they did not measure up to their contract_. Anything else was undesirable interaction.

 

Worse, their interference made Sif cry. That was unforgivable.

 

His irritation fueled his run, feet pounding on the asphalt as he navigated the neighborhood. He needed to figure out how to make Bobbi and Hunter move. Moving himself would be easier, but he’d promised Thor to watch after Jane, and he doubted Sif would sell Aunt Win’s house, and he couldn’t very well move across town without her.

 

He wondered how soon was too soon to propose. They hadn’t been together very long, which definitely made it too soon, but they’d known each other for most of their lives, which technically made a proposal long overdue.

 

When he got back home, he’d set Jane on the case and have her ferret out Sif’s feelings on the subject.

 

Circling the block, he ran past Sif’s house, wondering if she was awake yet and how much trouble he’d be in for waking her up early. Figuring it was too much, he decided to run around the block three more times before invading her space.

 

Just past the fence dividing his parents’ property from Sif’s, Loki collided with a someone who felt like a stone wall and fell over backwards, jostling his broken arm and nearly smacking his head against the road again. A sack came down on his head, and his arms were roughly pulled behind him and tied together.

 

“Who the hell--” he got out before something sickly sweet invaded his nostrils. He’d never been chloroformed before, but it didn’t take a genius to figure out that’s what was happening. Thrashing wildly, Loki made holding his head difficult. Chloroform would do its job eventually, but if he could get enough air, the slow acting agent might take too long and someone would see the struggle and call for help.

 

“Hold still,” a deep voice growled, but Loki was of no mind to obey. Thrashing harder still, pain shot down his arm. Great. He’d dislocated his shoulder, and it hurt every bit as much as Thor said it would when it happened to him in middle school. Loki was going to have to eat his words for calling his brother a baby.

 

Another set of hands joined the first in holding his head still and the dampened rag pressed harder against Loki’s mouth and nose.

 

“This is taking too long,” the voice growled.

 

Loki nearly upended his captors before one sat on his shoulder, effectively pinning him. He supposed he ought to feel afraid or nervous for his life, but he was too angry at these incompetent would-be kidnappers. Chloroform? Really? Didn’t they know Hollywood wasn’t an accurate representation of science _at all_? He was going to die an old man before these nitwits succeeded.

 

“Just choke him already,” a second voice said. “We don’t have time for this. The neighbors will be awake soon.”

 

That was a much more effective idea. With a little wrangling, the kidnappers sat Loki up and wrapped an arm around his neck, and within seconds, Loki was out cold.   


 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was brought to you by my competition with Eienvine. She owes me a high five.
> 
> Fun fact: it takes 5 minutes to induce unconsciousness with a rag fully soaked in chloroform, and that’s assuming your patient (er, victim) is compliant and holds still.
> 
> Also fun fact: Loki was knocked out using a blood choke, meaning the carotid arteries were blocked, preventing blood flow to the brain so he passed out, which can be accomplished in 5 - 10 seconds. Blood choking-induced unconsciousness only lasts for about 30 - 40 seconds. These morons better have a plan or they’re going to be dealing with a pissed off and headachy Loki. Good luck.


	16. Stronger Than Any Mountain Cathedral

Staring at the ceiling, Sif wondered again how long she had to stay in bed before her body realized it wasn’t falling asleep.

 

One of the benefits of being unemployed and independently wealthy (thank you, _Quivering Heaps_ ) was it didn’t matter if she spent a sleepless night; but then again, maybe if she did something with her life she’d be exhausted enough to actually fall asleep. Never mind that her tossing and turning was because she couldn’t stop thinking about Bobbi and Loki and Coulson and Hunter and Jane and Thor and Volstagg and Fandral and basically any person she’d ever met in her life.

 

Rolling over, Sif buried her head in her pillow.

 

At four am, she finally gave up and made herself a cup of coffee. Tracing the rim of her mug, Sif smiled softly as she recalled Loki turning down Bobbi’s offer of wine. She kind of loved that he’d given up drinking for her. Take that, Bobbi Johnson...which probably wasn’t even the woman’s last name, curse her--but take that, Bobbi-formerly-Bee-Johnson, you and your stupid file--

 

Sif’s head shot up as she recalled Coulson’s comment early in her therapy about a file, and much worse, all the note taking he did during her sessions. Had he recorded everything she’d ever said? Was it sitting in some file somewhere? _Did Bobbi and Hunter have access to it_?

 

With a moan she set her coffee cup on the counter and sunk to the floor in a puddle of angsty Sif. This was embarrassing. She couldn’t ever face those people again.

 

Eventually the sun peeked over the horizon and Sif peeled herself off the floor. She needed a project, something to give her life meaning. She had scads of money and nothing to do-- _surely_ she could come up with a brilliant idea.

 

Searching out a pen and pad of paper, she sat down at the counter and started brainstorming. A house remodel had potential. It would keep her busy, she could maybe do a lot of the work herself, and she wouldn’t have to leave her house. Bonus! But what was there to remodel? Aunt Win kept the place pretty up to date, and Sif didn’t need an office (that’s what kitchen counters were for) or a craft room (ew, no) or a library (already had one). She wanted something useful, like a spa or a gym--

 

A gym.

 

She could tailor it to her needs, with a weightlifting side and a cardio side and an in-house fighting ring. She could install a whole wall of mirrors. Did she have enough space for a mini-locker room? She needed a state-of-the-art sound system.

 

The basement could easily be converted. There wasn’t anything down there she cared about it; in fact, if she built a gym, she might actually go downstairs once in a while.

 

Speaking of, she should probably clean down there.

 

Wait, who cared? She was going to demo the whole place and build a gym!

 

Giddy with excitement, Sif pulled out her phone and started researching contractors. Stark Contractors and Fury Building looked most promising, so she set a notification to call them for a quote when they opened.

 

A flash of motion outside the living room window snagged her attention. There went Loki for his early morning jog. If she built a gym, he could just use her basement; she liked the thought of him in her house. And hey, if having a private gym facility could entice him to stay, well, she wasn’t above using it to her advantage.

 

Could she talk him into having breakfast with her? Hopping off the stool, she skipped to the door, trying to decide whether he’d be persuaded by bacon and eggs or donuts.

 

Outside, she pulled up short. Loki was down on the asphalt, surrounded by two men--the two she’d seen outside her house last week. Fearing he’d had a stroke or heart attack, it took Sif a moment to realize the men weren’t helping him up, but the reason he was on the ground. She watched as the shorter man, the one who glowered, removed his arm from around Loki’s neck, her love falling lifelessly to the ground.

 

With her heart in her throat, Sif didn’t think twice as she kicked off her slippers and shouted “HEY!” as she ran towards the attackers. They both turned toward at her exclamation. The shorter one--she couldn’t remember his name, her adrenaline rush interfering with memory recall--stood from his crouch over Loki, but wasn’t fast enough. Sif did a double leg takedown. As he reached out to grab her shoulders, Sif dropped her level, shoving her lead leg between his and throwing her shoulder up into his pelvis as her arms wrapped around his hamstrings. Her front knee hit the ground, back leg trailing, and the man lost his balance, toppling over and into the taller friend--John, she thought.

 

Leaping up, she saw the shorter man’s exposed belly and kicked. He groaned and curled in on himself. John was still lying under his friend, gasping for the breath he’d lost on impact. Sif dropped low again, grabbing the shorter man’s arm and tucking it underneath hers as she planted her right knee in his belly, opposite arm grabbing his hip. “Who the hell are you?” she hissed, going in for a dominant mount. Sliding her knee across his body until it hit asphalt on the other side, she slid one arm into the collar of his shirt, palm up and fingers in. Her other arm made a half moon around his head and slid into the opposite side of the collar until she was sitting in a cross collar choke. “Move and I’ll do to you what you did to my boyfriend,” she said. He didn’t move.

 

“Who the hell are _you_?” John wheezed. “We were not prepared for you.”

 

The man underneath her finally found his voice, though it was laced with pain. “Without backup, how long do you think you’ll last?” he asked.

 

Sif had been wondering the same thing. She may be trained, but both men were bigger than her and she was out of practice. As soon as John got his bearings, he would make her life more difficult.

 

Loki jerked suddenly, breathing labored. Sif wanted to make sure he was all right, but she couldn’t risk taking her eyes of John and his friend. “Loki?” she asked. “You alive?”

 

A new person suddenly grabbed John, pulling him out from under Sif and her prisoner, flipping him over and pulling his arms tightly behind him. Looking up, Sif met Hunter’s eyes. Bobbi joined Sif, helping her flip the friend over and secure his arms.

 

“We heard you yelling,” Hunter said conversationally, pulling tightly enough on John to make the man groan. “Thought we’d come join the fun.”

 

Once the friend was secured, Sif relinquished her hold on him, moving to Loki’s side. He was sitting up, looking a bit glassy-eyed. “Those were some moves,” Bobbi said. “Coulson told me you used to run a dojo, but I didn’t quite believe him until now.”

 

Loki was squinting his eyes against the early morning light. Unsure what to do, Sif wrapped her arms around him, but immediately released him when he grunted in pain. “That hurts,” he said, pointing to his shoulder. “Dis...dis...dis something.”

 

“Dislocated,” she said. “I need to take you to a doctor.” Not sure where else he was injured and not wanting to hurt him, Sif settled for kissing his cheek and placing her hand lightly on his thigh.

 

Sif turned back to the prisoners, now trussed up and both glaring. Any time they so much as twitched, Hunter happily kicked them. “I’m glad you showed up,” Sif said sincerely to Bobbi and Hunter. “I wasn’t sure what I’d do if both of them came after me together.”

 

“You’d kick their arses, that’s what,” Hunter told her. “Watching you move was beautiful. I’m thinking the Senator didn’t need to hire us; he should just put you on his payroll.” Sif ducked her head at the compliment, appreciating it for what it was and not focusing on the fact that if Bobbi and Hunter hadn’t showed up, she might be in a heap of trouble right now.

 

Bobbi hung up the phone Sif hadn’t noticed she was on. “Coulson’s on his way, and he’s bringing the local LEOs,” she said. Nodding at John and his friend, she asked, “Who are these two yahoos?”

 

The question kickstarted Sif’s brain, and she glared at Bobbi. “You told me there weren’t any threats,” she snapped. “Loki isn’t supposed to be in any danger.”

 

“That’s what I thought,” Bobbi said. “None of the senatorial threats panned out.”

 

“ ‘Ey,” Hunter barked, cuffing the shorter man upside the head. “Who are you wankers?”

 

“Piss off,” the man growled.

 

“Ah, ah, ah,” Bobbi said. “You’re not in any position to talk to us like that.”

 

“Give it up, David,” John said. “Pretty sure we just lost.”

 

“I’m not talking without a lawyer,” the shorter one, David, snarled.

 

“You know, we’re not cops,” Hunter said. “We don’t have to get you one of them lawyer things. Don’t have to read you your rights, either.”

 

“Loki’s a lawyer,” Bobbi said.

 

John and David exchanged looks and clammed right up, refusing to say another word even after Coulson and the cops showed up.

 

Loki didn’t say much. John and David looked familiar to him, but that could have been because he had confronted them on the street recently. He went quiet after admitting that, clenching his teeth against the pain in his shoulder.

 

Sif gave her statement first, then winced through Loki’s muttered account of the incident. He didn’t remember much, recounting what he little he did recall in as few words as possible. The cops made as if to detain him, but Sif told them in no uncertain words that if they had further questions, they could find her and Loki at the hospital.

 

At the hospital, Loki had the good fortune of being assigned the same doctor as last time. “Back already?” she tsked, sliding out his chart. “Get hit by another car?”

 

Sif turned to Loki. “Do you think those two were responsible for the car?”

 

He just looked at her, jaw tight. “Don’t care. This hurts.” He gestured at his shoulder.

 

The doctor did a cursory examination of his shoulder and pronounced, “You need an MRI so I can properly assess the damage. Let me put in an order and we’ll see how soon we can get you in.”

 

Loki glared at her. “Those are expensive,” he said. “Can’t you just shove my shoulder back into place and give me a sling?”

 

The doctor crossed her arms and leveled a look at Loki. “Again, I am astounded at your medical knowledge. Where did you go to school and how did you get a degree so quickly?” Loki renewed his glare, and Sif hid her smile behind her hand. “Unfortunately,” the doctor continued, “I don’t recommend your methods. First, to properly assess the damage, I need a good look at the inside of your shoulder to see how major a disruption of the labrum and capsule from the anterior glenoid--a Bankart lesion, for the layman--there is, and I guarantee it will warrant being reattached to the fibrocartilagenous rim of the glenoid. And even if it’s only a mild disruption, your recommended non-operative treatment puts the arm in internal rotation, so the lesion is less likely to heal back to the bone. Your way has a nearly 50% chance of recurrence within 2 years; mine, less than 20%. Ergo, you’re getting a date with magnetic resonance imaging.”

 

Loki sulked, sinking down onto the patient table and refusing to look at the doctor. Sif placed her hand over her heart. “I think I love you,” she told the doctor. “Any chance you want to be our primary care physician?”

 

The woman smiled at her. “Not a chance,” she said. “But if this one ever comes back in, ask for Dr. Romanoff. He can’t make me cry.”

 

Sif watched the good doctor leave, her eyes trailing after the woman. “I’m serious, I think I’m in love with her,” Sif told Loki. “Think she’d marry me?”

 

“I don’t want to pay for this,” Loki said sourly. Sif went to his side, taking his hand and smoothing back his hair. “You can just shove my shoulder in and we can go home.”

 

She shook her head, smiling at him fondly. “I didn’t understand half the words she said, but not only are you getting an MRI, but I’m pretty sure you’re getting surgery. _Reattaching_ sounds invasive.”

 

Loki rolled his eyes up to glare at her. “You don’t have to sound so happy about it,” he said. “I almost died today.”

 

“You weren’t even close,” Sif said dismissively. “I don’t know what John and David wanted with you, but if they’d wanted you dead, they weren’t doing a very good job of inflicting mortal wounds.”

 

“A little sympathy?” Loki demanded. “My head is killing me, and I’m pretty sure something’s not right with it.”

 

“You lost consciousness,” Sif said. “This is what happens.”

 

“Okay, I am not a martial artist and do not experience this on a regular basis. Just act like it’s a major deal!”

 

Sif covered a laugh in a cough, then turned on her falsetto baby voice. “Loki, baby, you almost died today! You’re so lucky to be alive! Whatever would I do if you hadn’t made it?”

 

That was actually a fair question. Loki may not have been in any life-ending danger, but for a brief moment, Sif hadn’t known that, and there had been as much fear as adrenaline fueling her charge at David. But she didn’t want to dwell on that. She just wanted to focus on the fact that he was alive to whine and gripe at the doctor and complain to Sif.

 

She leaned down to rest her forehead against his. “I love you,” she said softly.

 

“Good,” he grumped, but his hand found hers and held on tightly.

 

*

 

The MRI confirmed the doctor’s diagnosis, and Loki was scheduled for surgery Monday morning. It was an outpatient surgery, so Sif took Loki home. Jane was anxiously awaiting their return on the couch, Frigga sitting with her via Facetime. The Odinson matriarch was very disapproving that Loki managed to land himself back in the hospital so soon, using her overbearing mother voice to cover the worried lines in her forehead. Sif reassured her multiple times over that Loki was going to be all right. And if she needed the reassurance just as much, well, she was getting pretty good at giving it to herself.

 

It was close to six before Coulson came over to report on John and David. “The Surturs have been booked overnight in jail. Charges will be filed tonight based on what you want to do,” he told them over a super healthy dinner of Kraft mac and cheese.

 

“Surtur,” Loki said, looking thoughtful. “I’ve heard that name before.”

 

“I’ll bet you have,” Coulson said. “Your firm in New York sued their family-owned business out of existence about two years back. I believe it was called Ragnarok.”

 

Loki snapped his fingers in recognition. “Ragnarok and Muspelheim,” he said. “It was a stupid name for a shoe store.”

 

“You sued a shoe company?” Sif asked him, spoonful of mac’n’cheese frozen halfway to her mouth.

 

He shrugged. “I did what the bigwigs told me to do, and I was very good at it.”

 

Sif set her spoon down. “Let me get this straight,” she said. “Odin and Frigga hired a private security company to protect you against the many threats made against the senator’s family. Said security guys have followed you around for months, and despite the many, _many_ threats made against Odin, not a single one of them put you in any danger. All the same, you still managed to get attacked by a couple of angry men, and it’s because of something _you_ did in New York?”

 

“...Sounds about right,” Loki said.

 

“Of course, _of course_ it would be because of you. _Of course._ ”

 

Apparently bitter because of Loki’s successful suing and their father’s subsequent loss of the family business, John and David Surtur had been planning revenge for quite some time. They moved into the neighborhood shortly after Loki did, posing as a pair of roommates (“I knew I’d seen them before!” Loki exclaimed. “They were the angry couple--roommates, whatever--I’ve seen around during my jogs”) as they gathered reconnaissance.

 

Stalking him had been surprisingly easy as Loki made no effort whatsoever to alter his daily routines, a habit that was giving Coulson an eye twitch. Their preferred location for spying was along the fenceline between the Odinson and Schelder residences; it turned out all of Bobbi’s comments of people skulking about the neighborhood had been with regards to them and not Sif’s own pathetic attempts to pretend like she wasn’t obsessed with Loki.

 

Which also probably meant every time she thought she’d seen something along their fences, she had. Creepy.

 

Once they memorized Loki’s routine, setting up a trap hadn’t taken much effort, and Loki gracelessly fell right into it.

 

One problem: Sif. As John had said, they hadn’t taken her into account. They knew she and Loki were close, but were unaware of her history with martial arts. The fact that she rarely left her house and spent so much time on the couch had helped solidify their assumption that she wouldn’t be a problem, should she happen to be present.

 

Sif was for sure building that gym in her basement.

 

They were also responsible for Loki’s car accident. It had been impromptu; while surveilling Loki’s office, they happened to be driving by as Loki was standing in the street, and David Surtur took advantage of the situation. Despite not doing much damage, apparently he was absurdly pleased that he’d hit Loki at all.

 

“You got all of this out of them without formally charging them with anything?” Loki asked, sounding somewhat impressed.

 

“I can be very persuasive,” Coulson said.

 

He had yet to get out of them exactly how much harm they’d intended to inflict on Loki that morning, but he assured them Bobbi and Hunter were on it.

 

“It’s up to you now, sir, precisely what we do with them,” Coulson concluded.

 

All eyes turned to Loki as he leaned back in his chair. “That’s an easy one,” he said. “Charge them with everything under the sun we can make stick, and if it’s not enough, I’ll sue them for emotional and physical damages.”

 

“You already sued them out of everything they own,” Jane pointed out.

 

Loki shrugged. “Then if they wanted mercy, they shouldn’t have come back. It’s bad enough they went after me, but they sealed their fate when they made Sif worry. I’m going to make them regret ever entangling with Loki Odinson.”

 

Sif wasn’t quite sure what to make of that. It was oddly sweet that he ranked her worry higher than his well-being, but she wasn’t sure how she felt about about being the reason he went after everything they had.

 

Then again, they had tried to drug Loki with chloroform and do who-knows-what to him. Let those bastards rot in jail.

 

“And now we know to look into your past for potential threats,” Coulson said on his way to the door. “We’ll be expanding our research and carefully considering corporate threats.”

 

“Really?” Loki asked, leaning against the wall in the entryway. “I thought my parents only paid you to watch out for political threats.”

 

“We’re paid to keep you safe. That means all threats.”

 

“Huh.”

 

“One more thing,” Coulson said, turning to face Sif. “Want a job? Because there’s a spot on the team for you if you want it.”

 

Sif’s eyebrows flew up. She had not been expecting a job offer. “Are you serious?” she demanded. “Is that even legal? I’m dating the...target. Victim. Employer? Whatever it is you call Loki.”

 

“We usually just call him Loki,” Coulson said. “Occasionally Bobbi calls him things I’m not allowed to repeat.”

 

That made Sif smile. “Can I call him hunnybuns or will that weird you out?”

 

“You’ve never called me hunnybuns,” Loki said.

 

“I will start.”

 

Coulson smiled at her. “You may call him whatever you want, though Hunter may complain about it.”

 

“And this won’t be weird? What with you formerly being my therapist and me still being kind of mad at Bobbi?”

 

Coulson shrugged. “It’s as weird as you want to make it. But for my part, I look forward to having more conversations with you. And I won’t lie, it will be nice having a security detail close to Loki at inconvenient times.” Sif blushed at that, and did not make eye contact with Coulson. “Think about it, Sif, and let me know when you’ve made a decision.”

 

“You should do it,” Loki said when Coulson left. “I can tell you want to.”

 

She took his hand. “I’ll think about it,” she said firmly, “but I’m not making any decisions until after your surgery.”

 

“I do so love being the center of your world,” he said, and she scolded him for his arrogance.

 

*

 

They checked into the hospital at 8:00 Monday morning. Jane took the day off work to sit with Sif in the waiting room as Loki was prepped and operated on. He came out of surgery around noon, and was released around one. Jane and Sif both listened to the instructions on how to tend Loki’s wound, gathering a stack of pamphlets with guides and suggestions on how to live with a sling, which Dr. Romanoff repeatedly reminded them he had to wear constantly, no matter how he felt about it.

 

The showering instructions and changing the dressing instructions were fun; both women agreed they were happy Frigga was coming back and could take charge of that aspect.

 

Drugged Loki was quiet, which was unnerving, but as the medication passed through his system, he returned to the grumpy patient they all knew and loved. He was especially unhappy about having to consume clear liquids post-surgery.

 

After having a fight about how solid food was perfectly acceptable, never mind that he could hardly be bothered to even ingest the clear fluids, Sif and Loki found themselves sitting on the living room couch. Loki’s left arm was propped up on pillows, as per doctor’s orders, and the right was splayed across his leg, still encased in a cast. He was starting to resemble Sif post-accident, though on a much grumpier scale.

 

They sat in silence for half an hour, an amused Jane constantly poking her head in to check on them.

 

Loki broke the silence first. “This is absolutely the wrong time to ask this, but--”

 

“Then don’t ask it,” Sif interrupted.

 

“Don’t interrupt me,” he said, annoyed. “If I don’t say this now, I’ll talk myself out of it and you could be left waiting another year or so, and I don’t want to wait that long.”

 

“What are you talking about?” she asked, feeling annoyed herself.

 

“Will you marry me?”

 

The annoyance vanished, her eyes going wide as her mouth gaped open. Was he being serious? Wasn’t there supposed to be some romantic speech, a ring, maybe, and a conversation or two or ten leading up to an actual proposal so she wasn’t blindsided by it?

 

“I see I’ve caught you off guard,” he said. “Oh well, nothing for it.” Turning to face her as best he could with an immobilized shoulder, he said, “Sif. Darling Sif. You are magnificent in every way, from your fond smiles you think I don’t see to you yelling at me to be better at convalescing. I’ve known you since we were children. You know all my secrets and I think I know all yours, and I love that I don’t have to explain my life to you since you’ve already lived it with me. These past ten years without you in my life were dull and colorless, and I didn’t realize how dull and colorless they were until you came back into my life and painted my dreary canvas with bright spots of light and life.

 

“I want to build a life with you. I want to wake up next to you and fall asleep beside you and always know you’ll be on the other side of my surgery, waiting to take me home. Home is where the heart is, and as you’ve had possession of my heart since we were in middle school, home is you.

 

“I know it’s sudden and we haven’t discussed this much, but after nearly dying this weekend--and don’t tell me I wasn’t in that much danger, clearly I was on my deathbed--I don’t want to live another moment without you in my life.

 

“So, Sif Schelder: will you marry me?”

 

There, that was the romantic speech she’d been looking for. At some point during his words, Sif moved her hands up to cover her mouth, her tears now falling over her fingers. Unable to form words, she settled for nodding, hoping her eyes shone with all the affection she felt for the man in front of her.

 

“Say yes!” Jane shouted from the kitchen. “You have to say yes!”

 

Laughing a little, Sif moved her hands and managed to croak out, “Yes.”

 

Cheering erupted in the kitchen, and Sif’s smile matched the one on Loki’s face.

 

“I’ll buy you a fat diamond when I’m mobile again,” Loki said, “so start thinking about what you want.”

 

“I don’t want a fat diamond,” Sif said. “I want a rose gold band with small inlaid diamonds and a sappy inscription on the inside I’ll be too embarrassed to share with anyone else but that will always make me smile.”

 

“I love your quivering heaps?” he suggested, and she laughed through her tears.

 

“I said sappy,” she said, leaning in to kiss him soundly.

 

Jane interrupted them, tossing about confetti she’d made from a paper napkin. There was a lot of screaming and shrieking, which Loki handled with surprisingly good spirits, especially as it escalated when Jane called everyone in the family with the good news.

 

Sitting on the couch with her head propped up on Loki’s less injured shoulder and her fingers entwined with his as best they could over the cast, Sif felt deep contentment. She was where she belonged, and she planned to enjoy every second of it.  


 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just an epilogue to go!
> 
> I read one article on the use of slings versus surgery for dislocated shoulders and proclaimed it gospel truth. I’m not a doctor. I know nothing about the human body, so I’m pretending everything I read on the internet is true. If you’re a medical professional and I got it or my gratuitous use of medical words I don’t know wrong, I apologize.
> 
> And it might be unethical for Sif to join the security team. I don’t know. But this is fanfiction, so I can do what I want.


	17. With You All I Know Is I'm Coming Home

Recovery with Loki was a bigger pain than it had been after the car accident, especially once he found out Sif had hidden his medication in his food like he was a small child. Sif determined then and there that her life mission was to keep him out of danger because he was a massive baby when healing.

 

Sif accepted the job with Coulson. The physical requirements of the job were easily met, but the investigative and observational trainings were a struggle. Sif got into more than one fight over it with Bobbi, her assigned mentor (she’d turned down Hunter), so they had to learn how to power through their differences and make peace. Eventually they renewed their friendship, and Sif was glad to have the woman back in her life.

 

With Coulson now in a different role, Sif searched out a couples therapist and made Loki attend a session once a month just to make sure they were still communicating. He griped about it all the livelong day, but Sif knew he didn’t mind having dedicated time with her, and he always made sure to take her to dinner afterwards.

 

Jane had the baby in March, a beautiful little girl, and Thor Skyped in for the birth, with Loki standing in as his proxy. It was almost a year later before Thor got to come home and meet her in person. It was love at first sight for both of them, and she had him wrapped around her finger in no time at all.

 

Thor stayed in the army, relocating his family to Fort Benning, about an hour away, where he worked with army recruits. He and Jane had three more children, all sons, who let their older sister boss them about. They visited Vanaheim regularly, partially to see the family, and partially to keep up with Darcy and Fandral, who broke up and got back together so often everyone stopped keeping track.

 

Sif and Loki got married when Thor came home from deployment. It was a small ceremony, as Loki didn’t much care for the masses and Sif didn’t have many friends. Frigga was disappointed it wasn’t a larger affair, but she still planned the party of the century for their small group.

 

Loki bought the ring Sif asked for, with the inscription  _My heart, my home_  on the inside. It was exactly as sappy as Sif hoped, she refused to show it to anyone else, and lied when Loki said she cried upon receiving it.

 

He moved into her house, and together they turned her basement into a gym. Loki used the treadmill, but otherwise avoided the area like the plague, which suited Sif just fine. She spent a lot of time down there training with Volstagg and her new colleagues, or when she needed a break from her husband.

 

When it came to the Surturs, Loki wanted to sue them for all they were worth, but Sif convinced him their criminal records would do enough damage and he didn’t need to make things worse. John and David Surtur ended up coming to an agreement with Loki where he wouldn’t take everything they and their future children would ever own if they moved to the other side of the country and never came back. Over the years, various threats against the Odinsons popped up as the political climate heated and cooled, but Coulson’s team was very effective and managed to head off any major disasters before they started. No other incidents occurred due to Loki’s corporate lawyer past.

 

Loki remained at Selvig & Son until Selvig retired, at which point Loki bought the practice. Thor offered him a thousand dollars to rename it Frosty the Giant, which went over about as well as could be expected with a volatile brother like Loki. Sif just rolled her eyes and said it was too bad Wendy’s was already taken. She received quite a scolding over that.

 

Sif and Loki had a hard time getting pregnant, though they were happy to keep trying, regularly and repeatedly. They finally managed to have their first, a boy named Ullr, at about the same time Jane and Thor had their last. Sif called him her miracle baby, while Loki called him his about-damn-time son. Sif threatened Loki with castration if he ever said that where Ullr could hear, but privately she agreed. Like his father, Ullr took his sweet time doing anything, and woe unto the individual who thought he could be rushed.

 

A year later they welcomed a daughter, Hela, who almost immediately proved to be as mischievous as her father. Sif had her hands full keeping track of her daughter and doing her best to prevent trouble. Frigga told Sif and Loki it served them right, after all the headaches they’d given her as children.

 

To Loki’s absolute horror, Twinkie pie was the dessert of choice for both his children. He had a twenty minute phone conversation with Frigga about the depravity of his family. He never did come to like the dessert.

 

One spring day, Loki approached Sif just as she finished yelling at Hela for her most recent infraction. Wrapping his arms around Sif from behind, he kissed her cheek and asked, “Are you happy, Sif?”

 

She gave him her fiercest glare and said, “I just grounded your daughter until she is 53, so no, I would not say I am happy.”

 

Loki kissed her again and nuzzled her cheek. “I am,” he said. “No better place to be than at your side, watching you raise our daughter into a decent human being.”

 

Sif raised a brow at him. “You could have been by my side _helping_ me raise her into a decent human being.”

 

He kissed her a third time, lingering. “But considering her shenanigan was my idea, I don’t think that would go over so well.”

 

“ _Loki!_ ”

 

Sif never stayed mad at him for long, though, especially when she helped Ullr orchestrate revenge and let Loki do the parenting.

 

Sif loved her life. She was so grateful she chose to give Loki another chance all those years ago, and happily chose him again every day. And every time he chose her, the seeds of contentment were planted deeper.

 

Things weren’t perfect. Loki still obsessed over his pant size, no matter how many times she told him she loved him any way he was. She still yelled at the kids sometimes when she should use a kind word and a hug instead. There was drama when Thor discovered Aunt Win’s book based on Sif and Loki and passed it around the family, letting Ullr and Hela and their cousins get an eyeful of something they weren’t ready for, not to mention the humiliation of that book’s existence in the first place.

 

But there was love and there was forgiveness, Apology Pie and Twinkie pie, family dinners, boisterous laughter, and so many memories. Curling her fingers around Loki’s as they sat on the front porch, watching the stars slowly dot the night sky, Sif knew she wouldn’t change a single thing.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The end. :) Thank you to everyone who came on this journey with me, and to every kind soul who wrote a comment or gave a kudos. I appreciate each and every one of you.


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